Like Flash of Fire ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author: AC (enkidu@astrochick.com) Series: This is not part of my normal Folly of Starlight universe, but I suspect it may turn into a universe of its own. Pairing: Glorfindel/Legolas (twice over ), Glorfindel/Galdor suggested Rating: NC 17 Not mine, no harm intended, the sheep are lying through their teeth! Written for Fellowslash 2002. Thanks to Emma for the beta job. Comments are always cherished. Permission to post only on archives for the lists where this story appears. (Please note that this holds true for all stories I post, whether explicitly stated or not) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "And more is told in lays and in legend and lore of others of that weary way of the wandering folk; how the waifs of Gondolin outwitted Melko, vanished o'er the vale and vanquished the hills, how Glorfindel the golden in the gap of Eagles battled with the Balrog and both were slain: one like flash of fire from fanged rock one like bolted thunder black was smitten to the dreadful deep digged by Thornsir." -- JRRT, Fragment of an Alliterative Lay of Earendil Part 1: [Tuile 54, shortly before midnight, the valley sanctuary of Imladris, known in the Common Tongue as Rivendell, the Year 2511 of the Third Age] Sunset had settled comfortably across the mighty valley hours before, and now all traces of Anor's light were merely a memory. The handcrafted gems of the Lady's stars shone steadily overhead, the stillness of the night air reflected in the stability of the celestial lamplight. Ithil had recently joined the celebration of night, its pale, silvery glow casting eerie, angular shadows of neither truly light nor darkness across the carefully crafted stonework of Imladris. While the animals of the forest beyond eagerly settled in for their well deserved respite, the Eldar of Imladris strolled and sang, read crisp-paged antique books by flickering candlelight in the great library, and otherwise relished the subtle beauty of the eve. One solitary elf, a golden-haired stranger to this ancient and hallowed valley enclave, aimlessly strode through the archways and byways, wordlessly wondering at the surreal beauty of the night, and his surroundings. Legolas had arrived in Imladris that afternoon as part of his father's delegation. Similar delegations had been summoned from other Eldar courts to discuss the ever- increasing orc problem and the patrol of their mutual borders. All knew that the foul creatures had grown bolder in their attacks, even assaulting the travel party of the Lady Celebrian two years before. Now the Lady had passed West beyond the great sea, and rumor spoke of the unchecked waves of Easterlings and Orcs which flooded through Calenardhon to the south. <> Having reached his majority several months before, Legolas was eager to prove himself as both a worthy warrior and accomplished representative of Mirkwood. This was his first official mission beyond his homeland, and it had been made plain before the party had even left the dense trees of his father's realm that his older brother, Eruilas, was clearly in charge, and he was merely there in the role of observer, to learn the delicate, dueling arts of diplomacy and espionage at his brother's seasoned knee. Part of him envied his younger brother, Faenlas, who remained behind in the safety and familiarity of his father's cavernous palace. Despite his successfully constructed public façade of ease and confidence, in his heart of hearts Legolas felt lonely and utterly out of place, yet at the very same time found himself somehow also drawn to the singular beauty of the valley. The denizens of Imladris had been nice enough to him and treated him as an honored guest, although he truly felt as little more than baggage or ornamentation. All of the elder attendees to that afternoon's council meeting greeted him with the usual pandering salutations, then quickly settled into the heart of the matter, leaving him to try to follow along with the twisted and hopelessly convoluted arguments involving histories seen somehow notably different as recounted from the point of views of the various Houses of the Eldar, along with the obviously sage yet sometimes cryptic, punctuated wisdom of Mithrandir, the grey robed, lengthy-bearded wizard. The wizard was somehow less than hushed legend had painted him, yet at the same time much more. Perhaps it was how his disheveled appearance clashed quite vividly with the loquacious eloquence of his well- timed interjections, or perhaps it was something different. In any case, Legolas understood that he should hold the wizard in awe, yet he found himself considering Mithrandir as more a curiosity than a counselor. More curious still was Arahad, weather-worn Chief of the Dunedain. Legolas had not had much contact with Men, and he found them peculiar and inscrutable. The white-haired chieftain was hale of body and sound of mind, but moved with the deliberateness of one who could not afford to waste precious effort or energy. Legolas wondered how one who had lived barely a single Great Year could appear so aged. <> Among all the ambassadors from the far-flung Elven kingdoms, Galdor, emissary from the Grey Havens, had been particularly helpful and kind, answering Legolas' embarrassed questions both during and immediately after the council gathering with patience and respect. So, therefore, because of this, Legolas now sought out the Noldor's company to pass some part of the evening, hoping to learn more about this strange, nearly mythical place of which his father spoke with obviously mixed emotions. He found the elder elf sitting alone in the council hall, his brow plainly knitted in thought. "Do you find that chair so fair that you plan to spend the entirety of the night in it?" Legolas teased. "On this night a chair would be as comfortable as any bed, and would provide no less peace, or, more rightly, no more," the silver-tongued elder elf enigmatically sighed, his eyes sadly staring upward to survey the starry canopy above. Lines of confusion creased Legolas' brow. "My lord?" The dark-haired, ancient elf waved off Legolas' confusion with a bittersweet smile and a flourish of one hand, raising from the stone seat and shrugging his embroidered robes into proper place around his slender frame. "Walk with me, Legolas Thranduilion," he softly bade, slowly leading the way out from the council circle and into the main walkway of the vale. "How are you finding the valley of the Bruinen and its host?" With pursed lips, Legolas pondered the proper response, one which would not seem an insult nor an insipid statement of the obvious. "'Tis beautiful, and its Lord most kind, yet I find both somehow equally sorrowed. Sadness seems to run deep in both, as chasmal as the mighty river, and as tumultuously as the falls." Galdor sighed, the unhappy exhalation of his breath rushing past his lips in harmony with the whooshing tumble of the falls beyond. "There is much truth in what you say, my keen-eyed friend. Lord Elrond's heart has turned to stone since the passage west of his Lady wife, and his sons now burn with the unquenchable and unwavering fire of revenge." "Aye, I understand well the Lord's sorrow and his sons' bitterness, but 'tis far more than that. Even in your eyes I sense a sorrowfulness whose source I cannot reckon." Galdor agreed without relish, slowly nodding his head while he wrung his hands before the folds of his robe. "Many battles have we all fought, and not all were victories, not only in this age, but in those past. Some bear the scars of their souls more visibly than others, yet bear them we do - - all of us who have seen a time before this age." "So why do you not travel West to the Blessed Lands, like Lady Celebrian, if you are weary and find naught but pain in Middle-earth?" Before Galdor could hope to begin to answer such a knotted question, they rounded a corner and were faced with a vision of stunning yet heartbreakingly melancholy beauty -- a golden-haired figure precariously poised on the edge of a stone wall, gazing east over the valley toward the mountains which framed one side. Both elves stood in ceased-stepped silence, studying the anonymous figure, until Galdor sadly broke the silence in hushed tones. "He is why. I will not abandon my friend, no matter the depth of my own pain." "Who is that?" Legolas softly spoke, his voice barely a whisper in reverence for the magic of the spell the light of Ithil played upon the statue-like figure. A fleeting flash of an affection-tinged smile crossed the elder elf's face. "Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, returned from a month-long patrol but an hour ago." "Glorfindel?" Legolas asked, his voice trembling in palpable disbelief and awe. "The hero of Gondolin? The vanquisher of the Balrog? He who caused the Witch King to tremble at his very sight?" The young elf swallowed hard, his voice dropping even lower in stunned admiration. "He whom Mandos returned to life before the passing of a single age?" Galdor was visibly amused at the veneration with which his friend was regarded. "The very same." "Then Imladris is truly the home of living legends." "'Tis also the home of many who no longer live," Galdor despondently noted, turning away from the haunting vision of the familiar, golden-haired warrior of Gondolin. He took a seat on a nearby wall-side couch and silently beckoned Legolas to join him. "I have never before seen one who has returned from the Dark Halls," Legolas reverently remarked, shifting around on the couch so as to catch a better view of his newly found idol, still stiffly perched unawares on the far wall beyond. "And you shall not soon again -- at least so long as you remain in Middle-earth. For those whom Mandos has seen fit to release, most oft choose to remain in the Blessed Lands, as is their well-earned right." Mirkwood's middle prince mulled this truth in silence for the passing of many moments. "Are the Blessed Lands as beautiful as they say?" he finally inquired, his expression keenly reflecting his awe-struck curiosity. "More so, for mere words cannot hope to capture their true essence." Legolas stared out over the emptiness of the valley floor and across the curve in the cliffside wall at Glorfindel, and found himself inexplicably captivated by the great lord's irrefutable beauty. <> Legolas studied the noble features as illuminated in the delicate, silvery rays of Ithil. Fair and fresh and fearless was his face, with no sign of age, except the obvious weight of long ages lived which Legolas often found in the countenances of his elders. There was indeed an unearthly quality to the great elf lord, something indescribable yet undeniable all the same. Legolas found himself drawn against his will, like a moth to a flame, yet all the same, how he desired to be burned. He felt as a mewling babe in the presence of such greatness, yet at the same time he felt compelled, drawn by a force he could not understand nor hope to explain, to kiss away the sorrows he found in those artistically chiseled features. <> So beautiful, yet so sad at the very same time. Achingly lovely, yet equally reflecting a primeval pain in its own way. "One who has returned from death's care should have naught but the light of joy in their face, yet I see only pain written there." "My old friend has known many pains over the ages, has suffered more loss than most. He has lost his King, his city, his people, and the one he holds most dear." Legolas felt a surprising tug of jealousy at the mention of someone special in the great lord's life. "To Mandos' care?" Part 2: Galdor shook his head, another solemn sigh escaping from his lips. "No, golden child, he lives still, in the Blessed Lands, far beyond the Great Sea. The Trees may be dead and blossom no more, yet the fire in Laiqalasse's keen eyes blooms there still." Yet only the fruit of confusion grew in the orchard of Legolas' features, the reference clearly going unclaimed by the younger elf. "Do you not know the High Tongue?" the refugee of Gondolin incredulously inquired. "My father forbids it to be spoken within his borders," the gilded-haired elf of the wood uneasily admitted. "He says 'tis the tongue of the kinslayers, and those who brought ruin to Doriath, my grandfather's home." "'Tis also the language of the Blessed Lands," Galdor lectured gently. "And all the great Elven homes of Middle- earth were lost to war ere the end of the First Age, Gondolin, my own, included." "No disrespect was meant, my Lord," Legolas reverently countered. "I merely explain the obvious gap in the education my father deemed proper for his sons." "Likewise no disrespect meant toward the Lord of Mirkwood. The sorrows of the First Age still bear bitter fruit even to this day." Galdor smiled fleetingly, his eyes drinking in their fill of the striking prince's fairness in the complimentary mithril radiance of Ithil's rays. He had always found the fair-haired of their race most lovely, and Mirkwood's second heir was certainly no exception to that trend. "Laiqalasse and Legolas mean the same, in different Eldar tongues," he uncomplainingly elucidated. Legolas allowed this truism to ripen in his mind, before a hope-filled, strangely shy question flew unbidden from his lips. "Am I like him, in ways other than the names our mothers bestowed upon us?" "His beauty is darker than yours, yet no less vivid." Galdor paused and stared over to the stilled form still perched on his cliffside seat. "No less devastating to lose." "You mean lose beyond the sea." "Beyond the sea, and beyond Glorfindel's needful reach." "Then why does he not just sail West?" Legolas innocently queried. "Why torment himself in such a manner? Why deny himself what he obviously desires most." "Were it that the ways of the Valar were so simple to reckon." Pausing, the elder elf continued to study the statuesque, moonlit silhouette. Without a sound he raised a hand toward the living sculpture, outstretching his fingers as if to capture a lock of the spun gold tresses, then just as suddenly and silently clasping his fingers back together in defeat. With a forlorn exhalation, he forced his gaze upward to the cold brilliancy of the stars and the velvety darkness into which they were laid. Anor had long since set, and the appointed hour approached. From the angle with which the Valacirca hung in the North, Galdor knew that this moment marked the time of long- remembered dread, when the happiness of the Gondolithrim in their celebration of the coming of the summer was interrupted by the forces of Morgoth, and the betrayal of Maeglin. A nearly silent sob only the keenest of Elven ears could possibly discern above the gentle hush of the forest confirmed Galdor's chronological estimates. "He weeps," Legolas plaintively noted, his own expression empathetically mirroring the agony he so keenly heard. "As does my heart on this night," Galdor whispered with emotion. "'Tis on this night, above all others, that we feel the pain of all we have lost, and all those we shall never see again." "Tell me of it," Legolas beseeched most earnestly. "The fair city of Turgon." "High and white were the mighty walls of Gondolin, and its fountains shone with the silver of their water and the rainbow hued reflection of Anor's rays," Galdor began. "Turgon himself had wrought images of the Two Trees of the Blessed Lands, so that we might remember their beauty, and the home we exiles never expected to see again. Earendil, Lord Elrond's sire, was but a child in those long-past days, yet even then burned with the unmistakable fire of his bloodlines, both those of the First and Second born." Galdor grasped a delicate green leaf springing from an overhanging branch and clutched it tightly in his hand. "It was this very night, and preparations had been made for the great festival, Tarnin Austa. It was the custom of the city to hold silent vigil upon the eastern wall of the city and welcome the arrival of the first dawn of the summer with ancient songs both loud and sweet." Galdor paused, obviously replaying times past in his mind's eye. "Anor had set below the western walls some time before, and as the silver lamps filled the stone streets of the city with their mithril hued rays, we all gathered at the eastern wall to await the beginning of the vigil." His voice turned to a despondent sigh, Galdor paused, his eyes closing as if to shut out pained memories from his brain. "It was then that we discovered we were betrayed, by the King's own sister-son, as the blood-hued fire of Morgoth's army spread from the northern horizon to envelop the entire city ere long. "The Lords of the Twelve Houses led their forces in battle, the brave green-armored bowmen of the Tree following my every command, as did the silver and diamond clad House of the Fountain follow Ecthelion, their chief, and the Anor- haired swordsmen of the Golden Flower rally around Glorfindel. What a magnificent sight we were, young friend, especially Glorfindel, the silver rays of Ithil's light glinting and shimmering off his golden armor! Many are the songs which tell of the bravery of the Gondolithrim that fateful day. Ecthelion felled three fire demons with his mighty sword strokes, while Tuor, Lord Elrond's grandsire, slew another five with the fierce precision of his ax swing." "Yet Ecthelion fell to a Balrog," Legolas sadly interjected, remembering the rare occasions when stories of Gondolin's fall were spoken in his father's halls. "Not to a mere Balrog, but Gothmog, Son of Morgoth himself, the chief of the fiery demons," Galdor corrected with palpable pride. "With the price of his own life, he bought the future of Tuor, his friend, and rid Middle-earth of a most feared enemy. At last we knew that the city would not stand, and at the order of our King we fled along a secret route his daughter had prepared. We were led by Laiqalasse the eagle-eyed, who knew the plain which lay between the city walls and the ring of mountains beyond as well as he knew the perfect, pale plains of his beloved Glorfindel's skin. Both he had long explored by day and night, and we relied on the keenness of his eyes and his memory to lead us to safety. Neither failed us that long night nor the tear-filled days after." "So they escaped Gondolin together, Lord Glorfindel and his beloved?" "Escaped, yes, yet not together. For just as Laiqalasse led our people away from the destruction, with Tuor and I by his side, Glorfindel protected the rear, allowing not a single maiden, child, nor wounded soldier to be left behind on the treacherous path through Kirith-thoronath. It was there that the beasts renewed their attack, unseen by even Laiqalasse's keen eyes. Glorfindel protected the weakest of us from the wrath of a Balrog by the might of his sword alone, and dealt the accursed demon a fatal blow which sent him tumbling off the cliffside path and into the abyss below." Galdor turned his gaze toward the hero of Kirith- thoronath, his features forlorn, his expression one of remembered horror still keenly felt. "Ai! How oft it is that beauty turns from asset to shortcoming, and it was never so true as when that foul fiend grabbed a clawful of Glorfindel's golden mane and dragged him down into the darkness, to his death, by that shimmering handle." The radiance of wondering awe washed through the prince's features. "I cannot fathom such a feat, facing down one of the fire beasts, even with an army at my side, let alone with solely my own sword or bow. How could he have found the strength, the courage?" Galdor needed not a moment's thought to answer. "Love, young one. Only with the fire of love can you fight with a force equal to the flame of the mightiest enemy. Glorfindel fought for love of Turgon, his King, and for his kin, his city, and especially the unequaled love of his precious Greenleaf." "I have yet to taste a love so strong as what you speak, my Lord, with either gender fair," Legolas reluctantly admitted. "That gift comes but once or twice a life, young Greenleaf, and there are some who are never receive such a blessing. Others are likewise cursed to feel the fury of such a passion only to have it languish unrequited." "You speak of yourself," Legolas keenly surmised, noting for the first time the intensity with which Galdor studied Glorfindel's silent form. "Your heart burns with such an unquenchable fire for Lord Glorfindel." "As it has for all of this age, and the last, and much of the first, since before we sailed east from the Blessed Lands." "Why have you not spoken of this to him?" the younger elf incredulously questioned. "Why have you suffered in the silence of your anonymity?" "Laiqalasse is of my house, and I would not come between one of my kin and his heart's desire." "Even now? Glorfindel has chosen to be here, and not across the sea where Laiqalasse dwells." Galdor lowered his gaze to his own hands, which he wrung tightly in his lap. "You speak of choices as if they were freely given." "Were they not?" "All choices come with a price, my innocent prince. I pray you find their cost not too steep for your own heart to bear." A chilling shiver of premonition rippled through his flesh. "Pray tell me what specific choice was Glorfindel given, or not, as you have strongly hinted?" Legolas whispered. Galdor sighed heavily, his eyes returning to their addictively intense, longing-filled study of the moonlight- dappled form. "None return from Mandos' care, save with the permission of Mandos and the Lady of the Stars. However, the other Lords and Ladies of the Blessed Lands sometimes intercede on the behalf of one whom they believe has suffered enough and is sufficiently rehabilitated to return to the realm of the living. Such was the case with my friend and the Lord of the Deep, Ulmo. Glorfindel was allowed to return to solidity of form in less than the passing of an entire age only at the urging of Ulmo, and at a price which my friend was not entirely free to refuse. Glorfindel was permitted to return to the arms of his beloved, and pass nights and days of naught but pure joy in the Blessed Lands, but only for a time. For at the coming of a moment of the Valar's choosing, he was to return to Middle-earth, alone, and offer his counsel and aid to the House of Tuor, whom Ulmo has ever protected. Thus after the passing of but a single Great Year, Glorfindel found himself severed once more from his precious Greenleaf, doomed to serve Lord Elrond until such a time as the Son of Earendil himself sails West." "Why did not Lord Elrond sail West, then, with his lady wife, if it is foretold that he should make the voyage?" The weight of the collected wisdom of several ages was momentarily lifted by the flash of a bittersweet smile. "'Tis not his time to leave this land, Child. There is much to do, and few who have the strength and wisdom to accomplish the onerous tasks which remain in this age, ere the stain of evil be wiped from the forests and the mountains, the plains and the fields, the rivers and the lakes of Middle-earth." Galdor paused, his voice briefly losing all touch of confidence, and hope. "If such a deed is even within the power of the First Born and the Second to bring to bear. Both have had their chances, and both have failed." "I still do not understand," Legolas interjected. "Why do you allow him, and you, to suffer alone? Surely he needs the succor of your kisses to help him bear the burdens which the Valar have saddled upon him?" "So I had hoped, when first he arrived in the Grey Havens and told me of his doom. Grey may be Mithrandir's garb, yet greyer still was the mood of my old friend upon reaching our shores. Gone is the joy which once spread from him to all in his presence with merely a single smile, replaced by the dense woolen cloak of duty. I fear I bring him naught but memories of what he has lost, and what he cannot have - - not in this age." Galdor glanced up at the stars and read the hour by their positionings. "Thus he always marks this night by keeping the vigil which was interrupted by the curse of Maeglin's betrayal. He will remain there upon the wall, in silence, until the first rays of Anor's golden flame crest the mountains beyond, and then he will weep in his sorrow -- for the blood which was needlessly spilled, and that which will be spilled in the years to come." "And for the death of joy in his own heart," Legolas murmured with much melancholy. "Yet another casualty of this age," Galdor bitterly noted. Without further word, he slowly rose to his feet, then with a final, lingering longing gaze at the unattainable goal of his heart, turned to leave. Legolas watched him depart, then glanced at Glorfindel, the kernel of a plot germinating in his mind. Part 3: Enveloped in the gloom of his grief, Glorfindel stared out over the eastern mountains, keeping the vigil as he had all the years of this age, and half of the last. He did it in the name of all who had suffered, all who had died, and to remind himself why such sacrifices are sometimes needed for the greater good of all. Although his eyes were clearly trained eastward, he felt a pull from the west, from behind him, where his heart ever dwelt in the Blessed Lands from which he had been sundered not once, but twice. On that fateful day, Laiqalasse had been stationed far before him, even as now he lay far behind. Either way, the beloved Greenleaf was beyond Glorfindel's reach, as elusive and as tantalizing as the stars above. <> Soft steps gliding effortlessly across the stoned walkway behind him caught his attention. He turned his head in time to meet face to face the arrival of an unknown intruder to his vigil of remembrance. A vision of delicate beauty, framed with high cheekbones and hair as pale as his own, Glorfindel recognized the blood of the Vanyar also flowed through this one. Yet this was not one of his house, for few others still dwelt in Middle-earth, and none in Imladris. Nor did the Lady Galadriel have blood relatives on this side of the sea, save Lord Elrond. No, this was a line he did not recognize, yet there was something hauntingly familiar about the serene-faced stranger. "I beg your pardon for disturbing your privacy, my Lord," the vision of beauty lyrically spoke. "But no one should be made to keep so solemn a vigil alone. Might I share in your burden, and your honoring of the dead?" Intrigued, Glorfindel gestured with one hand to an empty spot on the hard stone wall beside him, and watched as the unidentified elf deftly positioned himself upon the precariously poised wall edge and sat with crossed legs. He waited a moment to see if the bold interloper would offer more words of explanation, but to his surprise the golden- haired vision did not. With a fleeting hint of a smile, the unfamiliar elf flashed him an unreadable expression, then stared out over the mountains toward the place where Anor would eventually rise. ------- The long hours leading to dawn passed in relative peace, the hushed, rhythmic ebb and flow of elven breath seamlessly blending with the gentle, nocturnal melody of the forest insects who witnessed their vigil. At the first silvering of the eastern sky, Glorfindel became noticeably restless, his vigil finally nearing its inevitable conclusion. When the first sliver of golden brilliance pierced between the craggy points of the mountains beyond, the Lord of the Golden Flower gave voice to his sorrow, nay not merely his, but that of all his kin, all of Finwe's clan. "A! the Trees of Light, tall and shapely, gold and silver, more glorious than the sun, than the moon more magical, o'er the meads of the Gods their fragrant frith and flowerladen gardens gleaming, once gladly shone. In death they are darkened, they drop their leaves from blackened branches bled by Morgoth and Ungoliant the grim the Gloomweaver. In spider's form despair and shadow a shuddering fear and shapeless night she weaves in a web of winding venom that is black and breathless. Their branches fail, the light and laughter of their leaves is quenched. Mirk goes marching, mists of blackness, through the halls of the Mighty hushed and empty, the gates of the Gods are in gloom mantled. Lo! the Elves murmur mourning in anguish, but no more shall be kindled the mirth of Cor." His voice faded away to a whisper, the tears clustering like a dense summer dew at the corners of his eyes, yet even as he raised a hand to brush away the dampness, a voice beside him raised in stunning clarity and the sweetness of triumphant joy. "Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear! O Queen beyond the Western Seas! O Light to us that wander here Amid the world of woven trees! Gilthoniel! O Elbereth! Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath! Snow-white! Snow-white! we sing to thee In a far land beyond the Sea O stars that in the Sunless Year With shining hand by her were sown, In windy fields now bright and clear We see your silver blossom blown!" The stranger smiled at him, sweetly, patiently, his face awash with the guileless light of one who had not yet tasted the infinite depths of despair this world could offer. "You would sing of darkness, yet I prefer to sing of the light. You would sing of doom, I would sing of hope. You would sing of pain and despair, and I would sing of love -- the love of the Lady for us all." The smile brightened further, growing clearer and stronger than the increasingly warm rays of the rising sun. "There is always a light, even in midst of the greatest darkness." The stranger reached out a hand and gently whisked away the remaining hint of moisture lingering at the corner of one sapphire eye. "Why have you done this?" Glorfindel asked in hushed tones, the barest touch of a tremble rippling through his flesh at the much-needed contact. "Because it is the correct thing to do." <> "Good intentions do not always bring joy," Glorfindel solemnly lectured. "It does not have to being pain alone, either." The stranger deftly wiped away another bare hint of a tear from the ancient lord's other eye, lingering in the contact. Glorfindel relished the sensation in turn, simple as it was, closing his eyes as he tried to remember the last time he was touched with such truthful tenderness. A shudder ran through him, much stronger than the last, as he felt the tides of physical need and emotional ache crashing through him in rolling, repetitive waves. "I have felt naught else for so long," he whispered, trying to prevent himself from becoming lost in the insanity of the moment. Yet as the other's lips purposefully captured his, he knew he had once again lost all hope of choice.... Part 4: The strangers serendipitously turned explorers in the realm of the erotic fumbled with an unelvish lack of grace and decorum, forsaking the carefully laid stone walkways for the privacy of a forest path. Lips and limbs intertwined feverishly in an increasingly fervent dance of need-driven desperation as they stumbled forward, twirled sideways, then somehow found the focus to travel forward once more. In the passing of time they finally came to rest upon a soft, verdant bed of moss, under a secret stone bridge safely tucked away in a lesser-tread corner of the valley. Two sets of neatly woven golden braids swayed in the sweet sunrise breeze, gently whipping their owners as the elves vainly worked at stripping off frustratingly recalcitrant leggings and tunics all the while never abandoning the heavily sighed addiction of their deeply-tongued kisses. The final impediment to their desire finally cast aside, they lay as one upon the tangled mass of clothes, the younger claiming the reins of leadership without a word. The crisp babbling of a nearby tributary of the Bruinen blended brilliantly with the gaily chirped chorus of the songbirds of the forest, and naught but the warmth of joy could find its way to Glorfindel's pain-strained heart for the first time in time immeasurable. This moment was clearly his -- his needs the sole concern of the mysterious, passionate stranger who now expertly brought sparks of lightning intensity to every nerve in his body. Glorfindel knew without reservation that for this one brief flash of time he was the center of the universe, with no choices to be made, no consequences to be weighed. Every morsel of this flesh was reverently worshipped by the masterful meanderings of purr-accompanied tongue laps and prickling sucked kisses. Fingertips freely floated across his flushed skin, raising sensitive trails of goose bumps in their wake. It was as a taste of the Blessed Lands in its own way, yet more, and Glorfindel allowed his intense hunger for such bliss to utterly consume him. Without a word of permission, the ancient elf lord consented to be taken in every manner possible, his every nerve aflame, every inch of his skin afire with the delight of sensations long since abandoned yet never forgotten. On nights innumerable his fingers had found his own flesh and made intimate yet empty contact, as nothing could hope to compare to the completeness of one's entire body wrapped around and within that of another whose sole purpose for being in that moment was the bestowing of unbridled pleasure. The golden-haired stranger rode him masterfully, gently, lovingly, patiently, putting Glorfindel's pleasure clearly before his own, yet also taking his fill without reservation. Lips and fingers deftly and unceasingly continued to move even up to the final shuddered frenzy, driving the ancient lord nearly to the sweetest form of madness, only to rescue him at the final moment and reward him with sweeping waves of breath-crushing delight. ----- They lay together in those painfully intimate moments afterwards, wrapped in the silence of speech's inadequacy. Contentment was eagerly found in the contact of their skin, and the gentle burble of the water beyond. The forest increasingly stirred around them in the celebration of the morn, and farther beyond they could hear the familiar sounds of Imladris' citizens going about their daily routines. Legolas lay on his back gazing up beyond the bridge's underside at the sunlight-kissed leaves dancing upon the gently swaying boughs. With the sweetest sigh of satisfaction, he tightened his protective wrap around the elder elf now cradled in his arms, enveloping him in a shielding embrace, the sunlight hued hair of the Golden Flower carelessly strewn across Legolas' chest. He was loathe to break the tranquility of the moment with the profanity of words, yet he knew that he must. "This vigil has ended more joyously than many you have held, I reckon." Glorfindel chuckled uneasily, the sound strange to his own ears. "'Tis a fleeting moment of fancy only. It will not change the memories, nor bring back to me all that I have lost." "Think of it as a gift from the Lady," Legolas lyrically purred. "All her gifts should be embraced with open arms, just as you have accepted my affections this morn." He smiled sweetly to himself before pressing a kiss into the sex-mussed, golden strands of the other's silky hair. "All her gifts, especially those which are unexpected. Open your heart, as freely as you have your arms." Legolas felt the other stiffen noticeably in his embrace. <> "Look around you. The green leaves return to the trees, the golden flowers bloom anew amidst the ferns. Likewise should your heart find joy once more." "My heart belongs to the Tree," Glorfindel whispered, the characteristic sorrow returned to his voice. "The Tree, or to one special leaf alone?" "The fairest leaf of them all." Legolas smirked to himself, the irony of the situation not lost upon the young elf prince. "Yet you freely take your fill of enjoyment from 'this' leaf without regrets, it seems." "You speak in riddles," Glorfindel gruffly rebutted, annoyance evident in his tone. "No, I speak plainly, if only you would open your ears to the truth." Legolas shifted underneath the elder elf, tipping up the other's face to meet his gaze. "Would your beloved wish you to pass the remainder of this age alone? Can you truly give the name of love to such selfishness?" The anger of insult flashed keenly in storm hued eyes. "He would wish me naught but happiness, as he has always done." "So why do you ignore his wishes, when you could find the solace you deserve offered freely before your eyes?" Glorfindel instinctively pulled away from the other's grasp, sitting up upon the tangle of moss and raiment. "You think to make more of this than a single night?" Legolas smiled without guile, not allowing himself to consider whether Glorfindel's reservation was meant as insult or merely self-preservation by one whose heart was made of naught but armor. "I do not speak of myself, although the thought is not unpleasing to me. No, I speak instead of one who has loved you from afar for centuries uncounted, although he has allowed his honor and his loyalty to still his tongue." He paused, enjoying the sheer confusion on the other's face. "Galdor." A parade of emotions flashed in Glorfindel's face in rapid- fire succession, some unreadable, others clearer than the water of the falls, finally ending with the contentment of realization. "The possibility has crossed my mind more than once," he admitted. He paused, then a smile curled the delicate corners of his lips, bringing a light to his features which increased his natural loveliness tenfold. "As you say, the thought is not unpleasing to me." Reaching out a hand, he tenderly caressed one of the other's braids, then cupped the side of an elegantly arched cheek and sipped in a final, affectionate kiss of thanks. Glorfindel pushed up to his feet and carefully separated his garments from the tussled pile. A shamefaced expression of guilt creased his features as he pulled his leggings back up over his slender legs. "You have spoken to me of many things, all your words sage, yet you neglected to tell me your name." Legolas thought for a moment, a sly smile fleetingly gracing his lips. Rolling up to his feet, with his leggings clutched loosely in one hand, he tilted up his face and pressed a chaste kiss to the elder elf's forehead. "I am called Edwenion by some," he spoke in half-truth, thinking the rest could easily wait for a time more appropriate and unfettered with complications. "I would call you Idhrenion, as you have brought the fiery flash of wisdom back into my life." "Just take care not to let the lesson go unpracticed once we leave this place." "By Elbereth, I will not," Glorfindel swore. He shrugged his tunic back around his body and scooped up his boots with one hand as he smoothed his hair with the other. "I hope you will not think me callous if I leave you here to finish dressing alone, but I am eager to speak to an old friend, as he and I have wasted far too much time already." Chuckling softly, Legolas nodded in understanding. "I would not wish to be the reason you wasted another precious moment, although I believe Galdor to be the prince of patience." "He will be richly rewarded, I assure you," Glorfindel promised, a devilish twinkle gleaming in his eye. "As I hope you are, one day." "I do not know what plans the Lady has for me. I can only trust in her wisdom, and her compassion. Whatever trials may be placed before me, I can only pray that I meet them with the same stoutness of arm and of heart that you and Galdor have demonstrated in the passing of the ages." Glorfindel reached out a hand and clasped the other's forearm in a warrior's salute. "Of that I have no doubts. The measure of your heart cannot be questioned. May the flame of love's true fire guide your arm, regardless of its chosen weapon. When all else fails, love ever remains, unquenchable in your heart. And as one may carry many weapons, you have reminded me that one has the room for different means of love within one's heart." He released the younger elf's arm with a smile. "If you wish to learn more of the olden times, speak to me after dinner this evening. Perhaps the young can prevent the repetition of onerous mistakes in the remainder of this age." "Will you not be otherwise engaged?" Legolas cheekily hinted. "Galdor will be by my side," Glorfindel volleyed without reservation. "Who better to assure that my memory of events has not been clouded with the passing of years?" A final nod of understanding, an affectionate handclasp, and Glorfindel took his leave in silence. As Legolas watched him retreat from sight, swallowed up by the embrace of the densely wooded forest, he wondered what tales he himself might have to tell one day to the younger of his race, tales of this age, once its days had passed, like a flash of fire. The End Author's notes: 0) Note that there exist variations in some names (Earendil/Earendel for example) depending on the age of the sources used. 1) Gondolin was the last of the great Elvish enclaves of the First Age to fall to the forces of evil and betrayal. "The Silmarillion" (151) laments that "Gondolin upon Amon Gwareth became fair indeed and fit to compare even with Elven Tirion beyond the sea. High and white were its walls and smooth its stairs, and tall and strong was the Tower of the King. There shining fountains played, and in the courts of Turgon stood images of the Trees of old, which Turgon himself wrought with elven-craft.... But fairer than all the wonders of Gondolin was Idril, Turgon's daughter, she that was called Celebrindal, the Silver-foot, whose hair was as the gold of Laurelin before the coming of Melkor." Upon the death of Turgon at the fall of his city, the High Kingship of the Noldor in Middle-earth passed to Gil-galad. 2) Several famous elf lords from Gondolin appear in this story and should be briefly introduced. Ecthelion was "that lord of the house of the Fountain, who had the fairest voice and was most skilled in musics of all the Gondothlim. He won renown for ever by his slaying of Gothmog son of Melko, whereby Tuor was saved from death but Ecthelion was drowned with his foe in the king's fountain." ("The Fall of Gondolin," Book of Lost Tales 2: 217) Galdor was "that valiant Gnome [Noldor] who led the men of the Tree in many a charge and yet won out of Gondolin and even the onslaught of Melko upon the dwellers at Sirion's mouth and went back to the ruins with Earendil." (Ibid.) An elvish character of the same name shows up in LOTR as a messenger from Cirdan sent to the Council of Elrond. A note by Christopher Tolkien to "Essays on Glorfindel" (The Peoples of Middle-earth: 387-8) argues that like Glorfindel, the character in the First Age is the same as that named in the Third. However, taking this viewpoint with Galdor is rather simple, because of the fact that he clearly survives the fall of Gondolin in canon. To explain his dwelling at the Havens, Christopher points out that "in the 'Name-list to the Fall of Gondolin' it is said that he went to Sirion's mouth. Galdor of Gondolin was the lord of the house of the Tree, and it is said that he 'was held the most valiant of all the Gondothlim save Turgon alone'." (Ibid.) One interesting case of a recycled elf name which clearly refers to two distinct individuals is Legolas. The original appears in the story of the Fall of Gondolin where it is said he was "a man of the Tree, who led the exiles over Tumladin in the dark, being night-sighted, and he liveth still in Tol Eressea named by the Eldar there Laiqalasse." (Book of Lost Tales 2: 218) Laiqalasse is merely the Quenyan form of "Green leaf," while Legolas is the Sindarin form. Note that Legolas the first was of the same house as Galdor. Also note that there is no evidence that the first Legolas was blond. By contrast, Glorfindel was clearly described in FOTR (299) as "tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and keen, and his voice like music; on his high brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength." If we assume (as seems to be the case borne out by canon) that this Glorfindel is the same as the lord of Gondolin, then we know that he was one of the captains of Turgon and "commanded the left flank of the retreat of the Gondolindrim during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad." (Foster: 210) According to "The Fall of Gondolin" (Book of Lost Tales 2: 218), he "led the Golden Flower [House] and was the best beloved of the Gondothlim, save it be Ecthelion, but who shall choose. Yet he was hapless and fell slaying a Balrog on the great fight in Cristhorn." What fate would have befallen Glorfindel after falling to his death and the remandation of his fea (soul) to the Halls of Mandos? According to the essay labeled "Glorfindel II" (The Peoples of Middle-earth: 381), after the "purging of any guilt that he had incurred in the rebellion [of the Noldor], he was released from Mandos and Manwe restored him. He then became again a living incarnate person, but was permitted to dwell in the Blessed Realm; for he had regained the primitive innocence and grace of the Eldar. For long years he remained in Valinor, in reunion with the Eldar who had not rebelled, and in the companionship of the Maiar. To these he had now almost become an equal, for... his spiritual power had been greatly enhanced by his self- sacrifice." This enhanced state of being agrees with the description of Glorfindel in FOTR (294) when Gandalf explains to Frodo that the Hobbit had seen the Glorfindel "as he is upon the other side: one of the mighty of the First-born. He is an Elf lord of a house of princes." What choices might have been given to Glorfindel as a "reconstituted" elf lord? The essay labeled "Glorfindel I" (The Peoples of Middle-earth: 378) states that when such an elf returned from Mandos' care "they could remain in Valinor, or return to Middle-earth if their home had been there. We can therefore reasonably suppose that Glorfindel, after the purging or forgiveness of his part in the rebellion of the Noldor, was released from Mandos and became himself again, but remained in the Blessed Realm -- for Gondolin was destroyed and all or most of his kin had perished.... It is indeed probable that he had in Valinor already become a friend and follower of Olorin." However, Essay I makes a veiled reference to the possibility that he was not given complete freedom to choose his renewed fate: "Glorfindel remained in the Blessed Realm, no doubt at first by his own choice: Gondolin was destroyed, and all his kin [of the Golden Flower] had perished, and were still in the Halls of Waiting unapproachable by the living. But his long sojourn during the last years of the First Age, and at least far into the Second Age, no doubt was also in accordance with the wishes and designs of Manwe." (The Peoples of Middle-earth: 381) This now brings up the issue of Glorfindel's eventual return to Middle-earth, and what connection he had to Gandalf (Olorin) upon that return. Essay I (The Peoples of Middle-earth: 377-8) notes that an elf "who had once known Middle-earth and fought in the long wars against Melkor would be an eminently suitable companion for Gandalf. We could reasonably suppose that Glorfindel (possibly as one of a small party, more probably as a sole companion) landed with Gandalf-Olorin about Third Age 1000. This supposition would indeed explain the air of special power and sanctity that surrounds Glorfindel - note how the Witch-king flies from him, although all others (such as King Earnur), however brave could not induce their horses to face him." Essay II (op. cit.: 381-2) argues that Glorfindel's return was probably before the end of the Second Age and the 'change of the world' resulting from the destruction of Numenor, after which "no living embodied creation, 'humane' or lesser kinds, could return from the Blessed Realm which had been 'removed from the Circles of the World'." As for when in the Second Age Glorfindel most probably returned to Middle-earth, Essay II suggests it might be as early as circa 1200 SA or as late as 1600 SA, at the beginning of Sauron's forays into Eriador, or his attack upon it. I have taken the SA 1600 date as canon here. A note on wizards (The Peoples of Middle-earth: 384-5) speaks of the five Istari (wizards) as arriving in Middle-earth in several waves, with the first two "unnamed" wizards arriving first "at the same time probably as Glorfindel, when matters became very dangerous in the Second Age. Glorfindel was sent to aid Elrond and was (though not yet said) pre- eminent in the war in Eriador." Another rough note on wizards (Ibid) suggests that Saruman might have arrived first among the Istari, with Gandalf and Radagast following together and "(what is most probable)... Glorfindel also met Gandalf at the Havens." Why is Glorfindel linked to the Istari in this way? Perhaps a reason can be found from looking at a note by Christopher Tolkien in "The Istari" (Unfinished Tales: 410-1) where he correlates the Istari with the Valar who sent them to Middle-earth. Conspicuous by his absence from the list is Ulmo. If he did not send one of the Istari to represent his interests in Middle-earth, could he have, perhaps, instead chosen Glorfindel, who had already demonstrated his loyalty to Tuor and his line, the chosen champion of Ulmo? That is the working hypothesis I have developed for this story. Note there is absolutely nothing in canon to suggest Glorfindel of Gondolin and Legolas of Gondolin were lovers, or even close friends; I have taken complete liberties here. Note that I also have the burden of showing how an angst-ridden Glorfindel described here could be turned into the one with a face "full of joy" by the end of the Third Age. 3) The story of the fall of Gondolin is one of the most sorrowed tales of Elvish history. The most complete account is given in "The Fall of Gondolin" (Book of Lost Tales 2), and only bits and pieces will be recounted here. The beginning of the end, as it were, came with the return of Aredhel, sister of Turgon, and her son Maeglin to the hidden kingdom. Maeglin greatly desired power and the kingship of the Noldor, and plotted to marry his first cousin, Idril, and capture the throne in that manner. She, of course, did not return his nefarious affections, and instead fell in love with a Man, Tuor son of Huor, who had been directed by Ulmo to seek out the secret enclave of the Noldor. Maeglin betrayed Gondolin to Morgoth, and when Tuor and Idril's son, Earendil, was seven years old, the forces of the Dark Lord attacked the final stronghold of the Noldor in Middle-earth. The attack came at night, during a great festival called Tarnin Austa, or the Gates of Summer. According to "The Fall of Gondolin" (op. cit. 173) it was the custom on that night to "begin a solemn ceremony at midnight, continuing even till the dawn... broke, and no voice was uttered in the city from midnight till the break of day, but the dawn they hailed with ancient songs. For years uncounted had the coming of summer thus been greeted with music of choirs, standing upon the gleaming eastern wall; and now comes even the night of vigil and the city is filled with silver lamps, while the groves upon the new-leaved trees lights of jeweled colours swing, and low musics go along the ways, but no voice sings until the dawn." Herein lies the first problem in interpreting the exact timing of this festival: it is said to greet the "coming of summer," yet the trees are described as being "new leaved," which clearly suggests a timing closer to spring than summer. Perhaps the festival was literally the ending of winter and the returning of warmth in general to the world, especially since the rings of mountains surrounding Gondolin are described as being snow-capped year round. I have taken the date of Tarnin Austa as the eve before the first day of Elvish summer, or the night of May 22-23. The same text continues to say that at that time the "sun had sunk beyond the hills and folk array them for the festival very gladly and eagerly -- glancing in expectation to the East. Lo! Even when she had gone and all was dark, a new light suddenly began, and a glow there was, but it was beyond the northward heights....' This was the invasion of Morgoth's forces, choosing the higher (and thus less well guarded) walls of the north as their point of attack. Note that the time of the attack is said to be after sunset (after the end of evening twilight even) yet before the official beginning of the festival -- some time between 9 PM and nearly midnight, depending on the exact date. The approach of the invasion force was announced by sentinels patrolling the plains between the inner and outer ring of mountains, and panic ensued in the streets of Gondolin. The eleven Elvish Houses of the city amassed their armies, as did Tuor's personal guards, the "House of the [Swan] Wing." The text describes the apparel and armament of the twelve houses in detail, from the golden arms of Glorfindel to the green of Galdor and the silver and diamond of Ecthelion. Consult the text for complete descriptions. At this point in the tale, the time was described as "four hours still from middle night," which is difficult to reconcile with the previous chronology unless "middle night" is a loose description for the wee hours before dawn (around 3 AM). Even then the passing of time is curious and unclear. The city itself was assaulted by orcs, dragons, and Balrogs, and many deeds of bravery were done by the lords of all of the houses. Early in the battle, Maeglin attempted to kidnap Idril and Earendil, but the child bit him in the hand and Tuor was able to rescue his family. Maeglin was tossed over the walls of the city to his death. Ecthelion and Tuor each slew several of the greatest orc chiefs, and several Balrogs as well (Ecthelion three with his sword, and Tuor five with his ax). Ecthelion suffered a whiplash injury from a Balrog and his shield arm went lame. Barely conscious, he was literally dragged from the scene supported by Tuor. Galdor rescued them at the Square of the Folkwell and a last stand was made in the Square of the Palace of the King. All seemed lost, as Ecthelion was now unconscious and borne fully by Tuor, until the arrival of Glorfindel and his troops. Tuor managed to refresh both himself and Ecthelion with water from the great fountain, but a fresh onslaught by a dragon, orcs, and finally Gothmog, the son of Morgoth, the greatest of the Balrogs, threatened to defeat not only the rag tag band, but specifically kill Tuor. But at the last minute, Echthelion, still partially paralyzed, stepped between Gothmog and Tuor and gave the Balrog several wounds. Finally, he flung himself at the demon, impaling the beast with his spiked helm, and they fell into the fountain together and drowned. Tolkien ends this scene with an intriguing note - that Tuor, upon realizing the great sacrifice Ecthelion had made on his behalf, "wept for his love of that fair Gnome of the Fountain...." (op. cit.: 184) For an exploitation of this quote in the slash sense, see "The Distance That the Dead Have Gone." After the death of Ecthelion, Tuor and his forces attempted to convince Turgon to leave the city along with the survivors of the Houses, but the king refused, deciding to fall with his city. He appointed Tuor the chieftain of the survivors and bade him to bring as many as he could to safety, which Tuor did with the help of Idril, who had prepared a hidden escape route for just such an occasion (eventuality, knowing the batting average of the Noldor in the First Age). During the retreat of the survivors, dragons attacked, but "Glorfindel held the rear manfully and many more of the Golden Flower fell there." There was apparently a debate amongst the wave of fleeing Gondolithrim as to the best route of escape, and many fell directly into the traps Morgoth's forces had laid for them. But others, "led by one Legolas Greenleaf of the house of the Tree, who knew all that plain by day or by dark and was night-sighted, made much speed over the vale for all their weariness, and halted only after a great march." Thus is was that the survivors of the great fortress of the Noldor, including many women, children, and wounded, crept away under the cover of the smoke and low hanging mist of the destruction of their long-time home, finding themselves at the next nightfall at the treacherous outer ring of mountains. They found themselves in Cristhorn, or Kirith- thoronath (The Eagles' Cleft) "where beneath the shadow of the highest peaks a narrow path winds its way, walled by a precipice to the right and on the left a dreadful fall leaps into emptiness." ("The Quenta," The Shaping of Middle-earth: 174) The survivors had to pass single-file, led by Galdor and Legolas, "whose eyes were like cats' for the dark, yet could they see further," (Book of Lost Tales: 192) while Glorfindel and his band guarded the rear. When Galdor had just reached the far end of the pass and Glorfindel the beginning, the forces of Morgoth surprised them in ambush, cascading rocks down upon them from above. Many orcs were killed, tossed into the abyss, and in the light of the rising moon there arose the eagles, led by Thorondor, who had no love for the forces of Morgoth. A Balrog attacked from the rear and Glorfindel "leapt forward upon him and his golden armour gleamed strangely in the moon, and he hewed at that demon.... Now there was a deadly combat upon that high rock above the folk (and the people could see it)." (Ibid.) Glorfindel inflicted many wounds upon the creature and finally the demon fell backward into the abyss, but grabbed a handful of Glorfindel's long, blond hair and dragged the elf down with him. In a bittersweet turn of events, the death of the Balrog allowed the survivors of Gondolin to escape to safety. "Now was this a very grievous thing, for Glorfindel was most dearly beloved - and lo! The dint of their fall echoed about the hills, and the abyss of Thornsir rang. Then at the death-cry of the Balrog the Orcs before and behind wavered and were slain or fled far away, and Thorndor himself, a mighty bird, descended into the abyss and brought up the body of Glorfindel." (op. cit.: 194-5) Despite the fear of further attacks, Tuor allowed time for the proper burial of Glorfindel, beneath a stone-cairn, which it is said is still guarded today by the great eagles of the pass, "but the folk of the Golden Flowers wept at its building and might not dry their tears." (Ibid.) Tuor eventually led the refugees over the mountains and down into the Vale of Sirion, where Ulmo's power could be plainly felt, and to Nan-tathren, the Land of Willows. "There they rested awhile, and were healed of their hurts and weariness; but their sorrow could not be healed. And they made a feast in memory of Gondolin and of the Elves that had perished there, the maidens, and the wives, and the warriors of the King; and for Glorfindel the beloved many were the songs they sang." (Silmarillion: 301-2) 4) The song Legolas sings in this story is from FOTR (in the chapter "Three is Company") and can be found in its entirety at http://www.geocities.com/tk_katz/varda.htm In FOTR it is sung by the High Elves, led by Gildor Inglorion, whom we will reportedly glimpse in the Director's Cut of FOTR in November . Glorfindel's song is actually the beginning of "The Flight of the Noldoli from Valinor" (The Lays of Beleriand: 159). The connection is made in "Morgoth's Ring" (125) and "The Shaping of Middle-earth" (204) between this abandoned and unfinished work and the Noldolante, "the Fall of the Noldor, that Maglor made ere he was lost." (Silmarillion: 98). Christopher Tolkien notes in a footnote to "The Quenta" (The Shaping of Middle-earth: 204) that he has never found a trace of any poem named Noldolante, and he presumes the connection made is a correct one. 5) According to the chronology in Appendix B of LOTR (One Vol. Edition: 1062), Orcs began making "secret strongholds in the Misty Mountains so as to bar all passes into Eriador" circa TA 2480. Celebrian, wife of Elrond, was attacked at Redhorn pass in TA 2509, and passed West over the great sea the following year. During that same year it is noted that "Orcs and Easterlings overrun Calenardhon [Rohan]." Although there is no record of an official council meeting at Rivendell at this time, given the alarming sequence of events, it would not be out of character for Elrond to call at least a meeting for the exchange of information concerning this growing threat. "The Peoples of Middle-earth" lists Arahad I as the Chief of the Dunedain at this time. He is listed as being born in TA 2365 and dying in TA 2523. Thus at the time of this story he would have been 146 years old - just two solar years more than one "Long Year" (Great Year, 144 solar years). 6) Legolas' brothers' names here are Eruilas (First Leaf) and Faenlas (White Leaf). The pseudonym he chooses for himself is Edwenion (Second Son). Glorfindel plays on this a tad and dubs him "Wise son". 7) The Two Trees of Valinor were destroyed by Melkor during the rebellion of the Noldor. Their last products were the sun and moon. References: The Astronomy of Middle-earth http://www.astrochick.com/elist.html A Song of Varda http://www.geocities.com/tk_katz/varda.htm J.R.R. Tolkien (1977) The Silmarillion (NY: Ballantine Books) J.R.R. Tolkien (1996) The Peoples of Middle-earth (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company) Tolkien, J.R.R. (1965) The Fellowship of the Ring (NY: Ballantine Books) J.R.R. Tolkien (1985) The Lays of Beleriand (NY: Ballantine Books) J.R.R. Tolkien (1984) The Book of Lost Tales, Part Two (NY: Ballantine Books) J.R.R. Tolkien (1986) The Shaping of Middle-earth (NY: Ballantine Books) J.R.R. Tolkien (1993) Morgoth's Ring (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co) J.R.R. Tolkien (1994) The Lord of the Rings, One Vol. Ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co) Robert Foster (1978) The Complete Guide to Middle Earth (NY: Ballantine Books)