Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The summoning comes during the golden hours. 

He sits at a low table with his sister, books between them, pillows around them. The curtains of the high balcony flutter in the wind, dim lanterns slowly swaying, illuminating the white stone floor and the low walls. In the distance Laurelin shines bright, and from behind the walls the ever glowing life of Tirion is easily visible. 

"Darlings, there you are." Findis' voice is strangely empty of her usual cheer, Glorfindel instantly thinks. Isifinde jumps up and smiles brightly at her as Glorfindel furrows his brows. 

"Mother?" Maybe it’s the worry in his voice that makes Isifinde turn back to him and cock her head, her thick, dark blond curls tumbling over her shoulder, throwing him an irritated glance, but maybe it was instead their mothers solemn face. "Has something happened? Mother?" He stands up to go over but she motions for them both to sit back down. 

"Sit, we have matters to discuss." she says and takes a seat on the pillows on the other side of the low table, gently putting some of their drawings aside. Instead she places a letter with a broken, blue seal on the table and unmistakably elegant handwriting, silver script.

"To the descendants of the high King Finwe, his daughter Findis and her heirs". Glorfindel reaches out for it but Findis pulls it back. "What is that, Mother? It's not about a party, is it?" Glorfindel asks at the same time as Isifinde asks "Has something happened to grandfather?". Glorfindel shoots a short glance at his sister before looking at his mother and he could swear there is something in her gaze, but before he can really grasp it, her attention falls to Isifinde. 

"No, your grandfather is well, do not worry about him, sweetheart." 

"And where is Vansil? Isn't he addressed too?" Glorfindel adds. 

Findis gives him a tired smile. "He is. But this does not concern him much, and if you would listen before asking questions, you would understand why." 

Glorfindel sits up straight, feeling the verbal slap on the fingers clearly and folds his hands in front of him. 

Findis unfolds the letter and puts it on the table. "Read this and tell me what you understand from it." she says, sliding the paper over to them. 

Isifinde reaches for it, leans against Glorfindels shoulder while they both read the letter. "Grandfather asks for a representative at court because all his children should be represented equally? And uncle Nolofinwe misses you since you married and moved away?" Isifinde says when she puts the letter back down. 

Glorfindel nods along, but something about the wording seems off to him. "Uncle Nolofinwe asks for your support." he says, seeing his mother nod in return. "His influence is wavering and he demands your presence, or one of us, to help him stabilize. A vanyarin representative to add to Elenwes influence. Is it uncle Feanaro? Is he bringing trouble into court?" He sees Isifindes confused face in the periphery of his vision while he looks at his mother who had a rarely appearing glint in her eyes. 

"Feanaro is rallying against Nolofinwe while Arafinwe lends little support, as he is away, tending to other responsibilities, most of the time." Findis says, eyes focused on Glorfindel. 

"Why does it have to be one of us? Why can't you and father spend more time at court?" Glorfindel asks. 

"You both are old enough to further your studies and gain more experience in ruling matters. While it may be centuries until you’re needed to act on these experiences, this is an excellent opportunity. Your uncle is not only a smart man, but also a wise one, and despite everything, your grandfather does miss you both, you remember how happy he is whenever you visit him, do you not? Do not focus too much on the trouble that your uncle is aiming to cause, living at court and receiving tutoring from Nolofinwe would be quite enough to present a united front of all the tribes." Findis tells them and Isifinde nods enthusiastically. "I'd love to go visit grandfather again." 

Glorfindel shares a look with his mother and feels her steel gaze pierce him, only for the barest of seconds, making him understand that he was to accompany her. You seem awfully worried, are we not safe there? What are you fearing? What is it that you need me to do? What Isifinde can’t?  “When should we leave?” He asks. 

“If you do not have any pressing matters to attend to, I do not see what would stop you from leaving whenever it pleases you.” Anytime now, don’t wait too long. He wonders what he has missed that could have her so restless and worried that she wants them gone as soon as possible.

He leaves the terrace with a strange feeling, walks the long, high hallway back to his own rooms. A tall white door with golden ornaments, many small flowers lead into a wide open space, a smaller door to the left leading to his bedroom. The glass doors to the balcony are closed, the wind tears at the curtains on the terrace behind the doors, all softly illuminated by the light of the trees far below them in the valley between the Taniquetil and Valmar. The feeling only gets stronger now that it feels as if he’s pushed out. I don’t really want to leave, I like it here. I always miss the clear winds when I’m down at Tirion. 

He calls for servants to pack for him anyway and leaves for his mothers rooms once they are instructed. The hallways to his parents quarters are empty, small chandeliers of glowing elf-stones his uncle crafted sparkling like the night sky above him. The door to his parents room is closed and he knocks, hears his fathers voice, calling for him to enter. In the sitting room behind the door, a grand round space with multiple low seats around a central table, he sees his mother with her arms crossed, half turned away from the door. Her dark skin shimmers in the light as does her golden crown and white gown. 

“Laure.” His father approaches him, he’s clad in armor, a golden glaive in his hand, voice rough. 

“Atyo?” He frowns, the whole tension in the room hitting him unprepared and he feels a little nauseous from the strong anger and frustration his parents project. 

Ingil walks up to him, shirt open, showing off the scar on his throat, his bright hair half braided back but a few strands escaped, he must have been training, Glorfindel thinks, followed by, oh I’m supposed to be training with him later. 

“It’s good that you’re here, come.” Ingil says, the rasp a little stronger today, and lays a hand on Glorfindels shoulder. He smiles but looks far from happy. He and mother must have been fighting. Maybe he doesn’t like that we’re leaving? He lets himself be led away, barely catches his mothers shaking her head and sighing before she too leaves the room. They’re in a small courtyard of his parents' suite, overlooking the main courtyard of the castle where some of their people walk around, all blonde and bright and clad in long, flowing white gowns. 

“Atyo?” He asks again as Ingil stops and drops his hand from his shoulder, the smile dropped from his face as well. 

“Laurefindele.” Ingil says, did I do something wrong? He’s even more worried when Ingil sighs heavily. “I know this is a sudden change, but please be careful. Your mother and I disagreed on this, mostly because she too left Tirion because of her brother's schemes.” Ingil continues, eyes on the silver jewel that is Tirion in the distance. She was unhappy there? I thought she only left because she wanted to be with you and you were here. Yet, it’s not surprising… She was tense when she brought the letter. 

“What do you mean with careful?” Glorfindel asks his father, eyeing the glaive suspiciously. 

“I mean that even in a palace that big, and with so many eyes and ears around, there will always be dark corners and you and your sister are way too important. Sooner or later people will come to you and try to persuade you, and if they can’t do that, they will threaten you. You must always be on guard, Laure.” Ingil tells him with a seriousness to his voice Glorfindel seldomly heard from him. Threaten us? “Keep to your aunt if anything happens.” Ingil adds and hands Glorfindel the golden glaive. 

Glorfindel nods but then looks confused at his fathers glaive, eyes jumping back and forth between the weapon and his fathers face. He has the same green eyes he and his siblings share, without the specks of gold they got from their mother. There’s worry and compassion on his face, a strange expression he’s never seen before. It feels like goodbye. Why does it feel like goodbye? A restlessness fills him and he holds on to the skirts of his robe, “Is this- Why does it feel so final? Mother said we’re only away to learn, she didn’t say it’s forever. It isn’t, is it, father?” The words fall out of his mouth without preamble, an edge of fear to them. 

“No, Laure.” Ingil sighs and steps forward to hug him tightly and Glorfindel clings to him. “This wasn’t what I meant. You can come home anytime. I know it will be difficult and challenging, but I would never keep you away. I am so very proud of you and I am worried when I can’t look after you. You’re my eldest, and sometimes I just don’t like that you’ve already grown up. That I’ll have to let you go.” Ingil says quietly, a heaviness to his voice that matches the worry he radiates and Glorfindel feels it as keenly as his own, this is goodbye.

Even if neither of us likes it, this is a goodbye, father. 

Ingil holds him until his own restlessness is safely kept at bay, until Ingil too ceases to radiate the loud worry that had pulled Glorfindel under. He receives a kiss to the forehead and for a moment he feels way too young, way too inexperienced to leave. Maybe I’m not ready, father. 

“I want you to take this with you, Laure.” Ingil says finally and hands him the glaive and this time Glorfindel takes it. It is a little heavier than the one he used to train with, a lot more decorated too. 

“Why?” He asks, why do you want me to take your weapon? Will I need it? 

“I got it from your grandfather, and maybe you’ll pass it down to your firstborn. I think it’s the right time. Train with it, I will send your instructor with you to Tirion.” Ingil says, a proud smile on his face. 

“Thank you.” Glorfindel says and frowns at the weapon, grandfathers glaive? The one he brought across the sea? 

“Laure.” Ingil pulls him out of his thoughts, “No matter what your uncle may say, you don’t owe them anything. Remember that, yes?” He says and Glorfindel looks at him for a moment, but they’re mothers family, I’m responsible for them too. If uncle Nolofinwe needs help I should help him. 

He nods anyway, “Yes.” He says but Ingil must have noticed that he wasn’t too sure and he sees his father sigh. 

“Come. You’ll want to say goodbye to your mother too, don’t you?”

Glorfindel nods at that again and falls into step beside his father, the glaive a strangely heavy weight in his hands. 

Say goodbye. 

The talk with his mother is shorter, and Glorfindel thinks she knows something about what happens at court, but she doesn’t tell him and elegantly diverts the topic in a way that irritates him and not even her well meaning hug can change that feeling. But other than his father she doesn’t share the gifts of empathy and she doesn’t notice his turmoil as she sends him on his way. 

Feeling lost is new and it scares him and he doesn’t sleep at all that night.

They leave the next day, Isifinde and him clad in silver, gold and white, hair decorated but flowing, around them the chime of thousands of bells in the wind, drowning out the sound of hooves on the stone, carrying them and another two dozen Vanyar down the path to Tirion that shines like a silver jewel at the coast. Isifinde is full of energy and doesn’t stop talking, you’re nervous, sister, why are you so nervous? Is there someone you’re waiting to meet? It’s not unusual for her to be this bubbly and talk constantly, but her voice has an edge he’s sure she tries to overplay.

Chapter Text

The whole hall is beautifully decorated, thousands upon thousands of small jewels on strings, shining like stars in the height of the hall, a dozen meters above them, in between soft curtains that flutter in the wind. The orchestra on the balcony plays soft music and he’s listening to Finwe talking to their people, utterly fascinated by the colorful splendor of the noldorin court. 

The dark and vibrant colors do have their appeal too.  

It’s a heavy kind of luxury, even the air feels heavier here. It’s different, not less intriguing, merely a different baseline to all the melodies surrounding him, a different tune, less high bells, but almost a deep full sound that tingles at the back of his mind. 

I really never noticed how much of this is influenced by our people. How much of the high silver bells of the castle might be from grandfather or our people living there. I wonder how much different Olwe will sound. 

It hasn’t been too long since Ingwe taught him to listen closely, not too long since he managed to listen to his surroundings so clearly and it still strikes him everytime he focuses on it. As if his awareness for everything around him gained another dozen layers, more vibrant colors, stronger smells, fuller sounds, the feeling of life and creation all around him. 

I wonder if it ever gets too much for grandfather. Did he leave the city because of this? 

He looks over to Elenwe who looks far too radiant in her silver-golden gown, standing close to Turgon who’s barely looking at anything else but her, though he tries very hard to focus on the people before him. Well this is quite obvious, don’t you think dear aunt? 

Isifinde stands beside him, you look absolutely stunning in this, smiling brightly at him, before she pulls him over to Fingon, eager to greet their cousin. He wears a slim golden circlet on his head, looking regal and full of authority until he sees Isifinde rushing at him and stretches his arms, catching her and swinging her around. 

When dancing starts and he’s first invited by Elenwe who’s still graceful and bright and smiles kindly at him, followed by some of his other cousins. The festivity continues long into the silver hours, and shortly after he sees Finwe say his goodbyes, Indis smiling brightly at his side, he gets himself a drink and takes a break.

The man he dances with Ilinon smiles at him, his clear blue eyes twinkle light small ponds under the starlight and he pulls Glorfindel closer, a wave of his perfume swirling around them. Oh valar. They’re turning another round on the dancefloor and Ilinon moves with him, the hand on his back holding him close enough to carry him every other step, unnecessary but a sweet display of strength that brings an exciting twist to this dance. 

As the music ends Ilinon dips him low and for a moment Glorfindel is suspended in his arms, finding himself smiling brightly at the pretty noldo, who holds his gaze. There’s something more in there, oh definitely, yes, a question that Glorfindels all too happily answers with yes, “Let’s dance a little more before we leave?” He asks quietly, hand rising to rest on Ilinons neck. 

“We?” Ilinon echoes, coming impossibly closer, nose almost to nose, pulling Glorfindel up to him before he lifts them both upright. 

Glorfindel gives him a questioning look, “Just making sure I wasn’t imagining this.” Ilinon amends, hands settling on Glorfindels waist. 

“Now I’m curious what else you were imagining.” He says and Ilinon gives him a pretty grin.

“I’d be delighted to show you… later.” before he pulls him into the next dance.

It's not taking long before Ilinons dark hair fawns around his head as he falls on Glorfindels covers, his pretty neck stretching as Glorfindel places another kiss there. It's not long either until Glorfindel falls beside him, mind empty with bliss, humming as the light dances over his skin. 

It’s not nearly taking long enough before Fingolfin calls him into his work room, looking terribly disappointed. 

"Care to explain to me how one of my half brothers' spies was found scooping in our archives? The very one you decided to leave the party with last evening?" it doesn't actually sound like he asks, more an accusation. 

Glorfindel frowns, “Weren’t there guards at the archives if they’re meant to keep secrets?” he asks back and Fingolfin shoots him a disapproving look. 

“One of their kind shouldn’t have come that close at all. Your inattention could have cost us severely, hadn’t Elenwe caught him before he discovered anything of worth.” 

“One of their kind? Had he given me any indication that he was of your brother's household I wouldn’t have talked to him, he seemed like a courtier of the palace.” Glorfindel tries to argue. 

“Of course they don’t. That is why you need to be more careful. You can’t let your dalliances threaten our cause, it is absolutely unacceptable. Take company all you want, but keep your entertainment out of your responsibilities. I don’t want to repeat myself about this.” There’s a slight thrum of power surrounding Fingolfin and Glorfindel takes a shy step back, utterly surprised and overwhelmed by the rebuke. 

“Yes uncle, of course.” He bows and as Fingolfin turns away from him he runs.

He runs back to his room, furious and feeling terribly humiliated, tears welling in his eyes. He almost runs into a pair of servants who carry a bucket with what appears as wood splinters and torn canvas. 

“Apologies, your highness.” They bow and walk around him, and he looks towards the corridor they came from. In the middle of the hallway a door stands open, Fingons door. 

How did he break a painting? 

“... I don’t know what they wanted here. It’s strange, Nelyo, they didn’t even take anything.” He faintly hears Fingons voice, “But they caused quite the mess in here.” 

Why wasn’t he? Where was he?  

“They must have known you wouldn’t be here last night.” Maedhros answers calmly and Glorfindel stops, listens , surely you wouldn’t… There’s a laugh from Fingon, no, really? 

“Would have been quite another mess if they were.” and a chuckle from Maedhros. 

I- how-  

“But what does anyone gain from destroying my lounge?” Fingon says after a moment, “Someone to frame your family?” he muses and there's a moment of silence, yes I can’t imagine who would disapprove of that . 

“No, it’s so obviously not my fathers style, he’s too open in his conflicts. I don’t think it has anything to do with him.” Maedhros says a moment later, followed by another pause. “When did this happen?” he asks. 

“Somewhere between him leaving with Laurefindele, three hours before the end of the party, and my servants coming in at the rise of Telperions light. A window of about 6 hours. Fathers guardians caught him an hours later as he tried to get into the archives.” Fingon says and Glorfindel feels heat spread up his neck. 

This dirty liar, I thought he was cute! Eru, I was so stupid! 

“Do you want me to talk with-” Maedhros starts but Glorfindel never gets to find out who he means as Fingon interrupts him, “No, leave it be.” And in the quiet that follows he hears footsteps walking closer to the door. 

Glorfindel turns on his heels and rushes away, his heart beating so loudly in his ears, guilt for eavesdropping clawing at him,  and maybe he throws the doors to his room shut a little harder than necessary. 

I can’t believe this!  

“I don’t want to repeat myself about this,” he mockingly repeats his uncle's words to the empty room, grabbing a pillow off the couch and throwing it around, seeing it hit the window and drop down does nothing to calm him. He throws another one. 

“My ‘dalliances’ my ass, as if that has any impact on anything here. Sure, the spy’s only way in the palace was through me, as if it couldn’t have been anyone else! Maybe I was just the decoy!” He shouts at the bed, still unmade and very much a reminder. He feels the heat flush his cheeks and he turns around, kicks the couch, only to realize beneath the velvet was indeed wood and his shoes were very soft. 

Oh Morgoths asscrack, this stupid- 

A knock on the door keeps him from kicking it again and he huffs, brushing down his gown and hair, trying to reign in the fury for the substandard furniture. He rushes over to the door, yanks it open, “What is it?” He barks at the servant standing in front of him. 

She’s almost as tall as him, golden hair half braided back, a long blue gown and Elenwes crest on her shoulder, “Itamë, Prince Laurefindele, the high princess Elenwe wishes to see you. If you would follow me?” She says and bows, showing off her perfect balance and intricate braids. 

First Nolofinwe and now Elenwe? Glorfindel feels his heart drop a little and all the fury and rage replaced with dread. I got it, alright? I understood.  

Itamë smiles at him, waiting. Fine. He nods, closes the door behind him to follow her to Elenwen's rooms. He’s led to a grand white door with golden ornaments, on which the servant knocks. 

“Come in.” Elenwes voice is clear even through the wood. 

The servant opens the door to a spacious room, dark blue walls with golden ornaments, a luxurious seating area right in the middle of the room, candles lit all around them, bathing the whole room in a soft golden light. The servant bows and Glorfindel looks at everything but Elenwe, this room is so beautiful, so many jewels, and the fabrics, it’s almost as beautiful as it is at home, just darker, heavier in a way… I hope she’s not too angry. 

He dares a glance at her, “Please Laure, sit down. Do you want something to drink?” She says in that moment and he’s worried even more when he sees how calmly she sits on the couch, teacup in her hand, smiling at him. 

It’s a trap, sounds in his head, but there’s also Elenwe, who always held him whenever he needed comfort, who was always kind and compassionate, and the struggle is short lived.

He nods eagerly, walks over to her and sits down beside her, “Yes please.”, looking over the table, reaching for the small pastries that lay on a silver plate beside a pile of letters on the table. The pastries are very sweet and stick to the roof of his mouth and he makes a funny face as he tries to chew it down. 

What is that? And he glances at the letters, a few of them opened, and what is that? And for a moment the new struggle distracts him from the anger and frustration that was bubbling just beneath the surface. 

He glances up at Elenwe in alarm, it’s stuck! Help!, but she smiles at him and obviously bites back a very affectionate laugh. “I'm glad that you’re here, Laure. Has Nolofinwe already spoken to you?” She says and he swallows hard, reaching for a cup and tea to wash it down. What is this stuff? 

He frowns at the tea and then at her, “Spoken to me, yes. Spoken with me, no.” He tells her and sets the teacup back down. “If you want to tell me how irresponsible I’ve been, save it. I already got enough of that from him.” He says, and maybe talk to Finno and Nelyo, doesn’t sound like they’re responsible either , crosses his arms and lets himself fall against the backrest, glaring at the pile of pastries that must have been made to choke people. 

“No, I don't want to tell you how irresponsible you have been, you couldn't have known” I did, kind of. I mean I was told not to bring spies back with me, of course I wouldn’t, I just didn’t know that he was one, “and it’s not helpful now, that the mistake” mistake. “has already been made, to tell you that you should have acted differently. I´m sorry, if Nolofinwe said something harsh to you.” 

At this he looks up from the pastries to Elenwe, who’s still wearing that same kind and benevolent look and he holds onto his own arms a little tighter. 

“But you need to be more careful in the future, Laure. The dynamic at the Noldorin court is very sensitive, especially now. Everything you do could have far-reaching consequences.” 

Far reaching consequences? Like what? No more pretty statues for the grand boulevards if I seduce the wrong sculptor? Can’t imagine how Nolofinwe would cushion his big ego then, if he’s not got his face everywhere he looks. 

“I was careful. How was I supposed to know he was a spy?” He says, pouting. “He didn’t look very spy-ish at all.” 

“As I already said, it wasn't entirely your fault, but you know that Nolofinwe wrote to your mother because he needed the extra support here. As you certainly know the relationship between Nolofinwe and Feanaro is delicate at best, mostly it's plain rivalry and Feanaros people try everything to sabotage Nolofinwes plans and undermine his authority. It's quite different here than at Taniquetil, you have to be careful about every person and always need to consider who they are, where they come from or what they could possibly want.”

“It was clear from the letter that he was looking for support.” Glorfindel bounces his leg, “It just… why? Isn’t it clear that Feanaro is the favoured heir and that Nolofinwe is better at ruling? That Feanaro doesn’t even seem interested in ruling? I’ve met him only a few times and he’s always been so much more into his inventions, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say the words ‘fiscal stability’.” Glorfindel throws up his arms with a huff, just narrowly missing the teacup in Elenwes hands and he quickly pulls his arm back and cuts an apologetic grimace. That sounds so very stressful to be this careful. He frowns again, are you also always this careful? Elenwe still smiles at him. 

“You’re right, of course, but it’s important that the people perceive both to be equally competent, especially because Feanaro isn’t as fit for ruling as Nolofinwe is. Even if Feanaro isn’t really interested in the politics and the finer dynamics of the court, he would never accept that Nolofinwe would gain more influence than himself. I understand that all of this is quite difficult and some of it might seem ridiculous, but if you want to survive here, you need to understand this.” 

But they aren’t. Isn’t it lying to the people to make them think they are? I know he doesn’t like Nolofinwe, can’t Grandfather say something in the matter? “My mother said Feanaro was trying to rally against Nolofinwe.” He says, watching Elenwe eat one of the terribly sticky pastries. 

“Is he trying to provoke another conflict? She’s still angry about the last one, I think. It does seem strange to me that Grandfather isn’t doing anything against it. Or does he not see it because he’s away so much?” Glorfindel asks her, wondering how little of what he’s perceived at the court so far is true. Finwe really isn’t here much, is he? 

Elenwe must be thinking, she’s quiet for a while and Glorfindel feels himself get a little too restless, bouncing his leg, is he? Or shouldn’t I have said that? And why is he away so much? Can’t you tell me? He tries to read her face but Elenwe is calm as ever and he gets no tells, how are you doing this? I want to do this too. 

She looks at him again, “No, Feanaro doesn't want to provoke another conflict, but there are people around him who have their own goals and ideas and we have to keep an eye on them. And your grandfather hasn’t yet decided how he will proceed in this matter.” She says, patient and careful, so the people around him want to provoke a conflict? What do they gain from it? If they’re followers of Feanaro, do they want more influence and try to establish Feanaros position more? No matter how it may hurt the whole system? 

“Why hasn’t he?” He asks Elenwe, “Are these supporters that important that he can’t discipline them without angering uncle Feanaro? Or doesn’t he want to?” This explains so much better why they’re so careful about who they let in the palace, if they aim to ruin Nolofinwes standing than it would surely cause a big disruption in the general public. It’s a bit strange, he’s had a few years of education about tactics and rulership, but having it applied to his life is different than he thought it would be. There are clear solutions he was taught, but applying them is difficult when feelings are part of it. But how do I keep the feelings out of it? 

Elenwe sighs, don’t I understand or are you tired of the conflict?  “I don’t know your Grandfather's thoughts, Laurefindele, but it can’t be easy for him to mediate between his two sons, who are in such great rivalry with one another. But it’s not that easy that he can just punish the people around Feanaro. I think you understand that such an action could cause consequences we can’t yet foresee and maybe wouldn’t be able to control.” 

It probably isn’t, it never is when both people are loved, it must be worse with all the political complications. 

“Yes, I do… I know I just started tactical education, but wouldn’t it be best to disrupt the end of the connections first? Slowly dismantle the supporters powers to make them useless? Or would that not work?” He asks Elenwe who looks out of the window and a bit in thought for a moment. What did you try? Maybe I can help? People do like me and I’m looking like a fool already.  

He sees Elenwe look back at him and there's a smile on her face as she nods, right? He feels himself sit up straighter as he recognizes her approval, “That’s exactly what we, I’m trying to do. It's small-scale and laborious work, especially because it can take a while to find out which elves belong to it and what they are trying to achieve. And when found out, it’s crucial to take away their power without disrupting the system at court. It has to be done with tactfulness and caution.” She hesitates a moment but then lays a hand on his shoulder and Glorfindel tries his best to look attentive. “If you’re willing, you could help us in this.” she says and Glorfindel nods. 

“Yes, please, let me help. Mother said it would be easier for us to learn here, and I wasn’t sure how it would be with uncle Nolofinwe, but if you’re helping me? I would love to learn from you, aunt Elenwe.” Please, let me help, I don’t want uncle Nolofinwe to think I’m useless, I can do this, let me prove myself. Please. 

She laughs, and Glorfindel feels a little upset at that, I’m not a child anymore, please, I know I made a mistake, but don’t treat me like one. She drops her hand from his shoulder and takes another cup of tea before she turns back to him. 

“I’m glad that you want to help us. You are a charming young man and people like you, these are good prerequisites, but I also have to warn you. It will not be easy and when people feel insecure, it does happen that they resort to threats. I think the easiest way for you to learn is if I show you. In a few days I will host a small dinner party. I was very careful with the selection of guests, because I suspect that several of them might be part of the network, some of them are quite new at court, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to expose them and get rid of them before they gain more influence. I would like for you to join me.” 

He nods eagerly, “Yes, please, let me help.” He says again, “I would love to join you in this. I already know a few of the nobles here in Tirion and..” He frowns a little, “With my recent display, they’ll surely not suspect anything.” Or so I hope. It has to be good for something at least. 

Elenwe nodsback at him and Glorfindel smiles up at her as she says “Excellent. It’s useful that you already know some of the nobles, but you’re still new enough that your attendance wouldn’t cause suspicion. They will probably think that I just want to introduce my nephew to court.” She paused before she returned his smile, “And yes, we will probably be able to use your little misstep to our advantage. They will think you naive, but this will only make it easier for you to get up to them and engage them in seemingly harmless conversations. But you won’t need to do this directly. Firstly I would like for you to mainly observe. I will tell Itamë to give you an official invitation.” 

Elenwes words give him confidence in the plan, the way her bright eyes are focused on him make him feel important and it’s so needed after the talking down he received from Fingolfin. Acting naive I can do. 

“Look interested and listen and maybe play a little dumb? I think I can manage that.” He nods at her again, “I’m looking forward to this, aunt Elenwe.” he makes sure to tell her. 

I won’t disappoint you.

Chapter Text

"Brother!" Isifindes shouts joyfully and so very loud in the quiet of his rooms, the walls reflecting the sound, how are they living so very closed off.  He sees the doors crashing against the walls from where he rests on the couch as she rushes into the room, launching herself straight into Glorfindels arms. 

He's barely catching her, air pushed out of his lungs as she lands heavily on him, but he manages to hold on as she almost cries into his ear, "He's asked me! Laure, I'm getting married!". 

What? "What?"

"It’s incredible, isn't it? Oh I hadn't thought I'd ever find someone so amazing, so beautiful, so lovely, Laure, I'm in love! In love!" she sits up and Isifinde is radiant with joy, her silver locks a shining halo around the green of her eyes. "Oh I can't wait for you to meet him!" 

You've been to Valmar for a week!  A WEEK! You can't marry someone you've just met! 

"Does the king know? Does mother know?" he scrambles for something to say. 

"What does it matter? I'm in love and he loves me too and we'll marry soon!" she launches herself off again, dancing through the room. "We'll have the grandest of parties at the castle, hundreds of musicians and the choirs, the bells, oh Laure, it's going to be just wonderful! You'll love Nandaro almost as much as I do!" she continues, utterly overjoyed. 

Party? 

Castle? 

Nandaro? 

Who even is that? 

"Hristil? I don't recall anyone being named that. Which house does he hail from?" he asks as evenly as he can, a suspicion already in mind. 

That Isifinde blushes doesn't help and she pursues her lips, "What does it matter when I love him?" she says, crossing her arms. What does it- 

"Hristil!" Glorfindel throws his arms up, "What is up with you? Have you suddenly forgotten everything?" You can't just do that! 

"I am in love, Laure! Not that you would understand, but can't you just be happy for me?" Isifinde cries and there's anger on her face that he hasn't seen in a while. Of course I can’t, falling in love is the worst thing I could do here when I have so much to do, feelings are the one luxury we can’t have, why don’t you understand that?  

"I can't support you going against all rules! We have a responsibility! It's bad enough that mother withdrew from court, Vansil is too young, it's up to us to represent our family, to support uncle Nolofinwe." Glorfindel says exasperated, Valar, what is this madness? Have you suddenly decided to be stupid? 

"I can still support uncle Nolofinwe, what even has this to do with who I'm marrying?" Isifinde shoots back. 

"How has it not? He's a commoner, isn't he? What do you think will happen? He'll be unhappy here, he won't fit in, don't lie to yourself." Glorfindel pushes himself up from the couch, "Isifinde. Don't let yourself be fooled, you know why a common lover isn't fit for a spouse. We've seen it often enough." he tries. 

It's been a long discussion with Ingwe he's had a few decades ago about the fading power of their people from those who were further and further away from the high kings, from those who received the gift of leadership. 

"As if there aren’t enough of us! Why do I have to care about this when you’ve always been the strongest out of us three? My gifts aren’t as strong, Grandfather never failed to remind me of that!” Isifinde cries, her voice getting a strange pitch at the end and almost breaking off. 

He did what? Glorfindels mind turns, utterly surprised, he told you that? It wasn’t a secret that he had a stronger gift than his younger siblings, but they were far younger than him, who could say they wouldn’t just grow into their power a little later. “I hadn’t known you felt like that.” He says a little dumbfounded, leaving silence between them. 

“Well now you know.” Isifinde bites back at him and lets herself fall back against the wall, huffing, almost fuming. 

He hesitates, hands opening and closing at his side. “Hristil, I-” He starts hesitant- 

“You what?” She spits back at him and he draws his hands behind his back. I’m not your enemy, why are you like this? You are the one making a mistake here, why don’t you see it? 

He must have been quiet for too long, staring at her, and she shakes her head, platinum curls flying around her head. 

“Forget it. I thought you would be happy for me, but Tirion changed you.” She hisses, anger bright in her green eyes, in the drawn curve of her mouth, in the way she bares her teeth, “Tell me when you’re my brother again, until then - stay the fuck away from me.” She adds just as ugly and smashes the door closed behind her, the sound thundering through the quiet rooms, the air of it throwing Glorfindels curls around. 

I am your brother. Isifinde, I am always your brother. He stares at the closed door, helpless to the pain blooming in his chest. 

Isifinde, please. 

It tears and tears and tears and he feels his throat close up as the feeling rises, I am your brother. 

Don’t go, please, don’t go. 

Maybe she’ll come back if he waits long enough, maybe she’ll realize he only meant well, maybe- 

maybe the door stays closed and he stays alone, waiting, but without avail. 

He stays and waits until a messenger from Elenwe comes and takes him to a meeting with her to one of the higher balconies of the kings tower, the whole of Tirion below them, sparkling in the darkness. 

There is no use in hiding his turmoil from her but he doesn’t get more than a compassionate hug and a “I’m sorry that you’re fighting, I’m sure she’ll be back to you soon.” before they get down to business, speak about how he’s supposed to infiltrate a meeting that will take place in a few hours in one of the townhouses of a lower noldorin noble. 

He’s struggling to concentrate and feels embarrassed when he needs to ask Elenwe to explain some things a second time, half of his mind still with his sister and her anger loud in his mind. 

“You remember Autinde? You danced with her at the first ball you attended since coming here. A rather beautiful lady with dark, wavy hair and amber eyes.” Elenwe says, “I need you to visit her, pay a little attention to her and make sure she sits with you in the garden below the study of her mother. Make sure to convince the gardeners to leave you two alone for as long as the meeting takes.” 

“How am I supposed to eavesdrop when I’m busy diverting her attention?” Glorfindel frowns, barely remembering anything about Autinde. 

“I have another pair of ears for that, do not worry. I only need you to keep Autindes attention on you and the servants in the garden away.” Elenwe tells him, an encouraging smile on her lips. “You can do this, right?” 

“Yes, of course.” He says, nodding, and straightening his back. “Keep her entertained and the garden clear. I got this.” 

“Well. Here is a short dossier on her, make sure to read it while you get ready, yes?” She touches his shoulder and he nods again, “I will. Thank you for trusting me with this.” and makes sure to bow a little before he takes the folder Elenwe hands him and moves to his rooms. 

Thurewen braids his hair as he skims over the list Elenwe handed him, her favourite poems and flowers, her hobbies, and he finds himself surprised that she too likes painting. I hadn’t even thought about bringing my colors with me to Tirion. They’re still in the castle. 

He’s at the gates of Autindes mansion about an hour later, a bouquet of golden flowers in his arm, walking up to the main entrance, as a woman with a pale pink dress comes up to him. Unadorned hair, simple and practical style. Fitted dress, pockets, sturdy fabric and little embroidery. A servant for sure. 

“Prince Laurefindele, welcome!” The woman exclaims and hastily bows before him, “We were not aware you were visiting, please forgive us. The Lord and Lady are about to have guests.” 

“Please, stand. I had no engagement with any of them. I had hoped to find the Lady Autinde, if she was available for a visit?” He says gently, smiling at the servant. 

“Of course, I will send someone to get her this instant. Please, come in.” The woman opens the door wider, letting him into a great sitting room with dark wood that leads into an opulent garden. Even inside the room he smells the multitude of different flowers, all weaving together into a strong scent that has the dark room feel much more lively and fresh. He looks around while the servants speak in hushed tones. 

Nice woodwork, beautiful furniture, their families workshops are renowned for this and it really shows. He’s looking out to the garden where several servants tend to the great amount of plants. Ask her to take you to the gardens, keep her talking about anything, might be boring, but I can do this. I can do this. 

Autinde floats down the stairs in her long purple gown and he stands up as she bows, her brown hair falling around her face, a few strands only pinned back by silver flower wreaths. 

They look quite well made.  

“Prince Laurefindele, welcome. We are deeply honored by your visit.” She says, and it’s not difficult to read the uncertainty in her eyes. 

“Thank you for your welcome, I hope I do not intrude on any of your business? I had hoped for a bit of your time. I’ve been thinking of you since we met at the ball.” He says, a charming smile on his lips, knowing full well that he implies a little more than he should. As expected, a little blush rises to her cheeks. 

“No, of course not. I am honored, really.” She says, amber eyes wide but a hesitant smile on her lips. 

Glorfindel nods kindly, gives her the bouquet, “For the troubles anyway, though it seems you are in possession of much greater flowers. Your garden looks magnificent, would you show me around?” He continues as she takes the flowers from him, handing them off to her servant. 

“It would be my pleasure, Prince Laurefindele.” Perfect. He offers her his arm with a wide smile. She really is pretty, Elenwe wasn’t wrong there. And her eyes have a pretty vibrant shade of brown, almost golden. She takes him to the bushes of hyacinths first, their flowers wide and their smell strong. But even these can’t quite overpower the smell of Autindes perfume. Did she put more on just now? His nose tingles with the intensity of it and he needs several times where she doesn’t look at him but talks about the flowers around them to suppress a sneeze or subtly pinch his nose. Eru, this is terrible. It only works for so long, and while she walks him to roses he’s sneezing so hard, his head aches with it, the whole of him folding in. 

“Oh, I am so terribly sorry!” Autinde says immediately, “If I had known the smell was offensive to you, I wouldn't have brought you here! I am so sorry, your highness, I always like the roses and-” He holds a hand up and sneezes again, another pain shooting through his nose up his forehead. “-but they were always so pretty and everybody always liked them and I-” 

“Autinde, please-” He tries and huffs, his nose less irritated now that she isn’t close to him anymore but profoundly trying to apologize with tears in her eyes. 

“-always liked them too but I hadn’t thought- They’re so simple and all and I hadn’t thought that anyone else would-” 

“Autinde, please. It’s not the roses.” He says, reaching out for her and catching her shaking hands. She’s frail, shaking like a leaf. Is she scared? For a moment he catches her staring at him, a deeper flush rising to her cheeks as her eyes go wide. She is. She feels caught!  

“I like the roses. They are very pretty and smell heavenly” He decides to say, smiling and letting go of her hands. “Please, do continue.” He adds, making no move to offer his arm again. 

Autinde ducks her head and looks down, “I always liked to paint them.” She says quietly. 

“Why are they so far back in the garden if you like them so much?” Glorfindel asks, coming to a stop beside her. She folds her hands before her, a strange expression on her face. There must be more to it. 

“Mother doesn’t like them, she can’t stand the smell.” Autinde says eventually, only the smell? Or the roses altogether? What did you do with the paintings? 

“Liked to paint? Do you not paint them anymore?” He asks, lacing his voice with worry and regret and it works like a charm, Autinde smiles sadly at him. 

“I do, but mother gives them all away. I thought it nice at first, that she was proud of my work and- I am sorry, this must bore you terribly, I should not speak of it. My apologies, your highness.” 

“No, please, do not apologize.” He quickly steps up to placate her, raising his arm to guide her, to the bench near the study. “I too like to paint. It saddens me to hear that a fellow painter is losing their muse.” He says. 

Autinde looks up at him and there is surprise in her eyes. “You’re far too kind, your highness. And I hadn’t expected you to paint too. What a coincidence.” She says and frowns, and Glorfindel gives her a shy smile.

Ah, there we go, “It may be time for apologies from my side. I heard that you were a painter when I saw one of the pretty rose wreaths in my cousin's study. It’s why I had hoped to talk to you. I admire your work.” he tells her, acting caught and a little bashful to lure her in. 

“No, please, I am so honored, Prince Laurefindele, I would have never thought that- My feeble work- That-” She seems so utterly baffled that it’s so very easy to guide her to sit down, catching the eyes of gardener and shoo them away while she doesn’t look. Make it seem like an intimate conversation. He patiently waits for her to calm down enough to speak again, my, you surely are easy to fluster. 

She looks at the ground for a moment, “It’s merely that… My mother giving all my paintings away feels as if she didn’t value my work. Doesn’t care for it.” She tells him finally and something about it strikes him as odd. I should have inquired more about where her paintings ended. It’s so strange to see one in Findekanos rooms, what does he even care about roses or these paintings at all. 

“And your father?” Glorfindel asks her. 

“He lets our woodworkers fabricate frames for them, but he never asks to keep them either. I tried, for a time, to make them bigger, maybe she would like those better, or paint other flowers… But somehow she never wants to keep them.” The sympathy on his face is genuine, to have ones work devalued like this must be a terrible feeling. I can’t imagine how it would be, had my parents not supported my interest. Though… mother always liked it more than father did, he never had the connection to it. 

“Do you not keep any of them for yourself?” He asks curiously, but Autinde shakes her head.

“Not really. I got my favorites in my rooms and a few half finished pieces standing in my painting room. Much of our house was decorated with murals before I was born, so there was never much space for my work to begin with.” She says and sighs. 

And they didn’t make room for you either. How cruel. It doesn’t really fit with what he’s learned about the noldor, they value their craft above everything else, to not value their daughters work rubs him all the wrong ways. It can’t be that she’s just terrible at her craft, I saw the painting in Finnos room, it’s very good. A soft breeze filters through the garden, the flowers around them swaying, and another wift of that sharp smell that surrounds Autinde is thrown into his face again, and he sneezes before he can hold it back. 

“Your highness?” Autinde asks worriedly, fretting with the fabric of her skirts.

“Do you have, perchance, something unusual in your garden? I never had something like this happen before.” Glorfindel diverts, scrunching his nose, the gruesome tingle still pulling on the bone of his nose, making a little show of it. He spots a short moment of hesitation, a twitch in her hands, and knows the next words are a lie. 

“No, not that I know of. But my father knows more about plants anyway, it’s his space.” She says, looking down at her hands. 

Yet you did something here… what is this smell? Are you growing something that you parents shouldn’t know about? Or do they know about it? I should ask Elenwe about this. 

“Perhaps it merely isn’t in the gardens I am used to then.” He continues amicably, “Not every plant that grows here in the lowlands survives on the mountainside. There are way fewer sorts of flowers in the high gardens.” He tells her, watching her interest perk up. 

“I heard of the golden flowers of the mountainside. They really must be quite beautiful.” She looks up at him and there's a smile on her face, see, it’s not that difficult. 

“They grow in Valmar too, whole fields of them. If you’re ever looking for inspiration outside of your garden or tire of painting roses, consider spending some time there?” He tries to look encouraging and it seems to be working perfectly fine. 

“I will, thank you, your highness, I will value this advice.” She says, and another breeze carries more of that strange, sharp smell to him and Glorfindel has a really hard time keeping his face under control. Once again, it doesn’t seem to be enough, and another worried frown finds its way onto Autindes face. 

“I fear it’s of little use staying out here.” He sighs, “Would you show me your painting room? I’m very curious about what you’re working on.” 

Autindes eyes go wide but she nods, “Of course, your highness. I would be honored to show you my work.” 

I can’t even say if she’s shy or hiding something more… The smell is suspicious. 

She stands up and leads him into the house, up the stairs and down a hallway that’s decorated with dark wood and beautiful murals of plants. 

No, as beautiful as her paintings are, this would really not fit. There's no more room. 

They pass a couple of doors in the hallway, a very ornamented one that must be the door to her rooms, and another, smaller one, without any decorations, where he catches another whiff of that awful sharp smell. That’s where you’ve been? He tries to memorize where it is, where it must be when accessed from the outside, second story, must be open to the courtyard. 

Autinde opens a door at the end of the hallway and leads him into a wide room with grand windows that overlook the garden. Many easels with half-finished paintings on huge canvases through the room, on the wall a rack with many tins of colors and brushes. The whole room smells of paint and he sees a few blobs of it on the hardwood floor. On the side stands a framed one with another dozen bright red roses. The frame is equally nicely carved, skillfully formed tendrils weaving around the canvas. It’s looks beautiful. 

“It’s a very nice room.” He compliments her as she looks at him, half expectand half shy, and she bows shortly, “Thank you, your highness.” He gives her another smile as he looks around, all the paintings have different roses, a few within bouquets, and he sees vases beside the easel, some of them holding dried flowers. “What is your newest work?” He asks, admiring the way she brings the flowers to life so vibrantly, seeming almost as if they lean away from the canvas when seen from the right angle. 

“This one.” She leads him over to a bouquet with red roses and other red flowers, and as he steps closer, he smells it again. Is this a pigment? 

“The colours are beautiful, you are very skilled, Lady Autinde. Where do you get your colors from? I don’t think I’ve seen such a beautiful red before.” He says, very tempted to run his fingers over the paint, just to see if it feels any different, if only maybe these are indeed real flowers. 

He looks over at her instead, “Oh, just something my father gifted me. I don’t know, but I like the paint a lot. I’ve been using it for a while now.” She says, and he doesn’t entirely believe her. 

Yes, it can’t possibly be related to the strange smelling room, the smell that’s in your clothes and in the colour. 

“A very nice gift, the flowers look almost too realistic to believe it’s a painting.” He tells her with a smile, “I’d be delighted to have one for my rooms.” He adds, watching Autindes eyes go wide and instead of the blush, he sees her pale a little. Something you don’t want me to know about? 

“It would be an honor, your highness.” She says, bowing deeply. There isn’t much else you could say, is there? I’m just curious whether you would delay bringing me one, or whether you’d try to find a way to not let me have one. 

The silver light in the rooms grows fainter and he hears lots of fabric rustling and voices from the hallway, the meeting of her parents must have come to an end. I should leave soon. 

“One of my assistants will be in contact with you. Thank you for your time, Lady Autinde, it was a delight to see the work of a fellow painter. I’m sure you will find many admirers at court, your paintings are outstanding.” He tells her with a polite smile, “Alas, I think it is time for me to leave.” 

Autinde thanks him profusely and then accompanies him to the door, leaving him to walk the way back to the palace and think of what he’s going to tell Elenwe. 

She’s so sad about her art being given away like this, despite that there is something she doesn’t want me to know, I do feel sorry for her. If I worked so hard on something only to see it doesn’t mean as much to the one I give it? I would hurt too. When I tell Elenwe about the smell and the colour… There will surely be consequences for her mother or her father, once we find out what they do, what happens in the meeting. Even if Autinde has nothing to do with it, she will suffer with them. I don’t think anyone would want to have her paintings if her family falls from grace. 

It’s a troubling feeling that accompanies him the whole walk back to the palace, people passing by, but he feels as if he drifts aimlessly among them until the doors to Elenwes chambers open and she welcomes him with a satisfied smile. But it’s no use. Duty comes first.

Chapter Text

Spionage is a lot more difficult than he anticipated. 

Fingon takes him to a nobels manor, and while he draws their attention while they give him a tour, Glorfindel slips away and hides away, looking for a place to overhear the meeting that they suspect to take place in the manor that day. He makes it up to the second highest floor and finds a room adjacent to the meeting hall. But even with his keen ears he can’t make out whats spoken on the other side of the wall and after a few minutes he gives up, slumps against the wall, eyes wandering through the room. Is this… an archive? 

He hadn’t paid much attention as he went in, only cared for it being empty of other elves, not for the high shelves lining the side of the room and the desk in the middle, or for the paper on it. He gets up and looks over it, mostly reports from the manor, growth reports from the garden? How many roses blooming? Expected yield? He finds a great many letters that tell him absolutely nothing, but after a little while he finds a folded paper with a broken wax seal. The next meeting shall take place in the house of the roses. What house of roses? Autindes? 

Beneath it he finds a small pin, slim and silver, a circular ruby and he holds it up to the light of the window, letting the light through- 

Footsteps outside the room have him jumping and he looks around, no open space, shit, and runs behind the door, pressing himself against the wall and only a second later the door opens, wood almost colliding with his face. He holds his breath, sees a person walk in and over to one of the drawers on the other side of the room. Now or never, right? 

He inches forward and around the door, backwards out of it, heart beating up to his chest, but the elf doesn’t turn. 

He’s briskly walking along the high gallery, from below he hears Fingons voice, talking animatedly but, to him at least, clearly as a diversion, drawing curious onlookers from the levels below. 

Now I only need to find a way down. 

He spots a staircase leading down at the end of the hallway, right before the hallway turns right, but just as he reaches it he hears steps from the level below and voices growing louder. Shit. He looks right, sees that the hallway leads to a door. 

Eru, please don’t let there be anyone. 

He opens and closes it quickly, finding himself in an almost empty room. The floors are simple hardwood, the ceiling is a little lower, the walls are covered in simple wallpapers. A spare room? He sees a bed in the corner of the room, a small bedside table besides, windows on the left side and the far side. 

The corner of the building. But… someone slept in that bed.

The knowledge that someone lives in the rooms has his heart racing and he quickly walks over to the windows, the ones on the far end let him see in the inner courtyard where a group of elves sits in front of the fountain, chatting, looking at the waterdrops in the light. 

But nothing but the wall below. I can’t jump that far without drawing attention. 

He walks to the windows on the left, finding a roof on the height of the floor he’s standing on, behind that another patch of garden full of beautiful bushes of hydrangeas, an ocean of purple flowers. 

The walkway. This must be the roof of the walkway. Perhaps I can swing down there. 

There are more voices from the hallway and he finds he has little time to consider. 

I wish I hadn’t lingered that long. 

He opens the window, closes it softly behind him before he carefully walks down the tiles of the almost flat roof until he meets the edge and crouches down, stuffing his hair into his collar before he pulls himself over the edge, spying below. 

Third level, 10 meter drop… If I fuck this up I’m dead.  

Thick columns left and right make it difficult to see, but he spots noone and it doesn’t sound as if anyone was walking there. 

If this doesn’t work I’ll hear my cousins laughing for years. Valar. 

He slowly inches forward, dips his upper body over the edge, adjusting his grip. J

ust like Angarato showed me. Slowly, then swinging- his grip slips as he swings around and he grips behind him quickly and wildly, managing to hold onto some decoration of the pillar, barely, just barely holding himself upwards, feet on the edge of the low banister. 

That was a close call. Valar. Can’t believe I really- 

He adjusts his stand, when suddenly part of the decoration gives away and he’s pushed forward, feet slipping, too shocked to get anything out as he plummets. 

Oh shit-

He wakes to intense pain and a feeling of being shaken around. 

“Stop, he’s waking up!” A voice calls out and he belatedly realizes it’s Fingon. But it’s not Fingon holding him. 

“Lauredfindele?” It’s Maedhros' voice by his ear and his arm around him, holding him steady on the horse. 

Is that a horse? Not two- two horses. I’m sitting on two horses! He raises his hands and sees four of them, half shifted. 

“Hey, look at me, Laure. Calm down, you hit your head hard.” It’s Fingons stressed voice that has him look up and there are two of you. 

“What?” He asks confused, a sharp pain shooting through his head at the movement and he cowers over, Maedhros draping around his back, pulling back upwards. 

“Stay with us, Laurefindele. Melna, take him.” He feels himself moved to the side, melna? , everything spinning, but suddenly there is ground below him and both of his cousins above him. “Careful, his head is still bleeding, we need to adjust the bandage.” Maedhros says calmly, is it? There is something sticky at the side of his head and suddenly there are so many fingers in front of his head, tips of them all red. 

“Valar! I see that! Shit, Laure, what the fuck were you thinking jumping from the balcony.” jumped? Fingon harshly pushes his hands away from his head and then tugs at something, probably the bandage by the way it shakes his head around. 

“Push’d.” He manages to say and Maedhros and Fingon look at each other in confusion, then anger. 

“What? Someone pushed you? You could have died had you not-” Fingon starts but Maedhros puts his hand on his shoulder. 

“Not now. Here, lift his head. I’ve seen Tyelko with these dozens of times- Good, now pull it tighter -He just needs some rest and he will recover soon. Good, now a knot. Yes.” Maedhros voice is calm and steady through the instruction and Glorfindel feels himself relax as Fingon follows them, feels the new bandage tighten around his head. Melna? 

“Can we even move him like this? His eyes are doing something weird.” Both Fingon and Maedhros stand up from where they were kneeling, leaving Glorfindel to look up at the sky, a pastel blue in the shining of Telperions silver light. 

He faintly hears them talk, but it’s so very muffled, like he’s under water. 

Silver? It was fading gold when I fell- Who was there? Who pushed? He thinks he remembers a pair of hands on his back. They must have been hidden behind the columns… But who would just push someone down? The clouds above him swirl and he sees some shapes, this one looks just like Isifinde when she dances, valar, I miss her… I wonder whether she’s already married that harpist. No, wait, I would have gotten an invitation. Did I get an invitation? I don’t remember. What if I got one but forgot? She’d be so mad that I missed her wedding! No, that’s not right. Elenwe would have asked me, told me, or at least suggested what to wear. But what if- 

A face shoves itself between him and the sky with the nice clouds. He scowls at it. 

“Hey, Laure, I’m going to pull you up now, I need you to look at me, yes? Come on, we got to get you back home.” It’s Fingon again, his blue eyes wide and filled with worry. 

“Hm.” He makes a noise and then there’s a pull on his arm and everything spins, the grass, the horses, the sky, and he heaves. Oh no. He finds himself on his knees, retching. 

“This isn’t good. Tyelko was more robust.” Maedhros voice is quiet and dull in his ears, his throat burns and something stinks horribly. 

“He’s barely more than a child, of course he’s fragile! He’s fucking barfing!” Fingon shouts, sounding stressed, why is he so stressed? “He should have never come along, this is too dangerous. Elenwe was wrong.” He hears Fingon rant, followed by a groan and Maedhros voice. 

“Melna, you couldn’t have known. It was all going well except for this, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, I think so. Still.” 

It makes no sense, it hurts his ears, but then again neither does this weird heaving of his chest and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s him that produces that horrible stinking mess on the floor before him. 

Did that come out of my mouth? That’s disgusting. Valar. 

He falls back and the soft grass cushions him, still he feels so very sick. 

“Here, drink something.” It’s Maedhros who puts the neck of the bottle to his lips, tilting it carefully, and the cold water helps immensely, taking away the terrible taste that stuck in his mouth. “Good, now lie back down.” He does as he’s told and he feels so very sleepy, his limbs are so heavy. 

“Laure, hey, Laure, stay awake. Come.” Fingon keeps him from slipping off, squeezing his hand and running his fingers along his temple, gently brushing his hair back. 

“‘M trying.” He says and words are so so very difficult to form, it’s more mumbled than anything else. 

“Hey, don’t you know the songs of healing?” Fingon asks him then, “You used that to cheat on the drinking contest a few months ago, didn’t you? Come on.” 

Oh, I do. 

“Come, sing with me.” Fingon takes both his hand and hums a few notes and Glorfindel tries to follow him, tries to stay focused on his cousins face, the way he looks at him with his blue eyes, such a strong contrast to his dark features. 

The familiar song comes surprisingly easy to him and a little light shines up in Fingons eyes, is that mine? It takes a while but he feels the sickness lessen and the two shapes of Fingon melt into one, leaving him with a terrible headache and a sore throat. Fingon still frowns at him, somewhere between frustration and disappointment. 

“Can you stand up now? You still look like shit.” He asks him, carefully pulling him up. 

“I think so, yes. Thank you.” He sways a little but manages to stay on his feet thanks to Fingons hold on his arms. “Where are we?” He asks as soon as he sees that they are surrounded by nothing but trees and grass. 

“Two hours' ride from the estate. An hour outside of Tirion. I found you collapsed in one of the bushes on my way to meet Findekano.” Maedhros tells him, swinging up into the saddle of his horse. 

“You said you were pushed?” Fingon asks directly, “Did you see who? And where were you? I was waiting for you to come down to the entrance hall.”. 

Glorfindel shakes his head, “No. I was upstairs looking for a way to get down. I had managed to get upstairs into the smaller rooms with the documents.” At this he pats down his front, and to his relief he feels the paper on the inside of his pockets. “Here. I got some, I don’t know how helpful they are, I didn’t have much time to look around. Someone came in and I had to leave. But I found this pin-” He took a small pin out of his pocket, slim and silver, a circular ruby at the lower end. “-it looks important.” 

Fingon takes it out of his hand, holds it up as he inspects it, not letting go of Glorfindels other arm. “I was in the entrance hall, speaking with Helcon, he wore one exactly like this. This must be something important.” He gives him the pin back, eyes flitting over him, you worry still? 

“A sign then?” Glorfindel says and Fingon nods slowly. 

“Yes, this is good. But whoever shoved you, they must suspect something. And they’re ready to kill to protect their secret.” Something he can’t read creeps into Fingons eyes at that, it looks almost like worry, but stronger. 

“I did tell a servant I was lost and they pointed me at the stairs, perhaps all they think is that I was just losing my way in the estate. It is quite big.” Glorfindel muses, a little more hopeful than logical. 

“No, whoever pushed you surely didn’t think you were lost.” Maedhros tells him flat out. “And we should get going. The longer we linger the more likely it is that someone catches up with us.” There is something in his eyes that spooks him, something cold and calculating, far from the steadfast older cousin he knows him as. 

“Right. Come, Laure. With me.” The same cold is in Fingons voice, Fingon who has never been anything but merry, always high on emotion, now harsh and pulling him towards his horse. He sits behind him without another word and holds on as he sees both Maedhros and Fingon exchange a glance he can’t interpret before they speed off towards Tirion. 

Elenwe scoops him up in her arms as he enters her rooms and hugs him tightly. Fingon closely behind him with a  “Careful, he’s banged up a little too much.”. He clings to her for a moment before she leans back and the air around them seems too dense and Elenwe lights up from within before he power thrums through him. 

His eyes go wide with shock, the ancient powers so much stronger than anything he’s ever been able to summon and for a moment he thinks he’s never before been able to breathe, never smelt the air, never seen the colors around him, never felt anything as intense as all these impressions crash into him- 

How are you always feeling all of this- 

His skin tingles all over even as she stopped glowing, still everything looks weirdly fading around the edges, the elves around him shining brighter than they had before, and he feels so strong, so full of power, he wants to run, to jump, to- 

“Laure, please, sit with me.” Elenwe says, her voice strange with something he’s never heard before, but she’s so bright, Eru she’s so bright , of course he stays with her. “I need you to tell me what happened, do you understand, Laure?” She says and again, her voice is like the rippling of water washing over him and he nods, staring at her starlit eyes. 

He tells her of the meeting he overheard, of the room he’s found and the pin he collected, up to his fall, how he slipped and fell into a bush. 

As it turns out, spionage is a lot more taxing than he first thought, and though he can’t say he regrets helping Elenwe- it is necessary after all- he is unhappy with the way Fingolfin commands him, handles him like a soldier more than like a nephew, and Glorfindel starts to miss his own father dearly. The difference between Fingolfin and his calculating and his fathers calm demeanor couldn’t be bigger, and it doesn’t take long until resentment grows and he understands why his mother favors the castle on the mountain.

Chapter Text

"With my brother returning to the city it's crucial that his closest supporters are identified." Fingolfin says, arms crossed, the crown on his head sparkling with hundreds of tiny sapphires and diamonds, matching Anaires crown and gown. Her dark blue eyes are thoughtful as she listens to Fingolfin. "With the circle you discovered two years ago, Laurefindele, we must be even more careful, more subtle. Your reports were concerning, to say the least. We must all be prepared that words will not be the only weapons we will face before long." 

That much was obvious, yes. Glorfindel almost wants to laugh, he was after all the one who was pushed from the balcony after attempting to escape. 

"We decided that as additional security, those who are young will be assigned a guard. To prevent any spontaneous acts of violence." Anaire continues her husband's train of thoughts, and raises a hand. 

One of the noldo of her small entourage, that Glorfindel had eyed curiously since he entered the room, comes to stand by her side. He's tall and broad shouldered, a handsome face and dark, grey eyes with an expression he can't quite place, apprehension, suspicion, wariness, tension. No insecurity, no, he wears his robes with confidence… but unease. What happened to you? 

"Laurefindele, Caumano will be your shield, you're not to go anywhere without him until all of this circle are identified and taken out of the game." Anaire says, what? 

Glorfindel cocks his head to the side, blinking, a clear show of disbelief. You think I would just accept one of your spies into my space? Am I not dedicated enough to our cause? Have I not repeatedly risked my well-being for information? 

"He will be at your disposal." Elenwe adds, and Glorfindel spots the compassion in her gaze, just how loud have I been? Have you heard? 

The small twitch of her lips is enough of an answer. 

Caumano steps forward and Glorfindel extends his hand. Caumanos doesn't hesitate to take it and bows, perfect form, what have you been doing that I've never seen you before? 

"It is an honor to serve you, your highness." Caumano says face still downturned. 

At least he's got a pleasant voice. 

He straightens up again, clasps his hand behind his back, he is quite big, Glorfindel thinks, comparing Turgon and Fingolfin, who are both tall and broad shouldered, yet neither bearing the muscle one gains from frequent sparring. Where did you dig out that warrior, Anaire? He motions with his hand for Caumano to step at his side, accepting his service with no attention at all, a gesture of defiance towards Anaire and disregard to Caumano, the most rebellion he can allow himself without outright starting a fight. 

Caumano though takes it in stride and moves to his side, making Glorfindel painfully aware of his presence with the aura of unease he discovered and can’t tune out again. 

“Laurefindele, you will keep to Irisse and Findecano, they are close enough with my brothers sons to not raise any further suspicion. Listen around who accompanies them.” Fingolfin tells him, “With my parents, the high king and the high queen, present, I would welcome your assistance, dear Elenwe. Perhaps we could divert my brothers attention enough for you to gain some insight.” 

Glorfindel fights down the urge to grit his teeth over the clear difference in how Fingolfin speaks to him and to Elenwe. 

I’m young enough to be easily commanded, am I not? Even to your own children you’re more lenient. Even if you and my mother got along better, it’s so easy to see why she wanted to get away from here. I want to get away too. 

He earns himself a sharp glance from Elenwe, get out of my thoughts. I’m not leaving, I know how important this is. Leave me my anger if I can’t have anything else. 

“What about uncle Arafinwe?” Aredhel asks, tugging at the jeweled sleeves of her blue silk gown that has suspiciously formed pockets at her hip. 

Carrying weapons like this is what got us into this problem in the first place. 

”What about him?” Fingolfin asks, raising an eyebrow at his daughter. 

“What will he be doing?” And what about our cousins? Ambarato and Angarato had a bit of a quarrel with Tyelko last time grandfather and uncle Feanaro were here.” 

“I will take care that they’re not interrupting.” Anaire tells her, “Do not worry about them, Earwen and I will keep her children occupied.” 

Nerwen might be the greater source for worry, he thinks, glancing at Elenwe but she’s focused on Anaire. 

Now you’re out of my mind? Great, thanks for nothing. He’s listening to the following discussion but he’s not addressed again, having received instructions already. With a few hours until the official arrival of the crown prince and his family to the palace he’s got not much time to get used to this ‘guard’. 

He turns to leave and the guard follows him easily, steps adjusting, keeping perfect distance, following him to the door of his rooms. Shortly before he sidesteps him, opening the door for him and Glorfindel glances at him, grey eyes downturned. As soon as he steps through the guard closes the door behind him and as Glorfindel walks further into the rooms, seating himself in the middle of the grand couch, he sees the guard standing with his arms behind his back at the door, eyes scanning the room. 

Five obvious exits, do you spot them? Yes,  good. There's another door hidden behind the tapestry. Seen that? No, sad. Improvised weapons? Yes, the curtain rods are screwed in, no, no weapons except the letter opener on my desk and the tools at the chimney. Good. Took you a little longer than necessary. Who have you trained with? Anaire? She’s no spy. Only a passable fighter. She’s a diplomat if anything. You’re not looking familiar, lower noldorin noble? You must be if you learned to fight. If she gave you knives, the bulges around your legs are too obvious when you flex like that. 

“Knives on the table.” He says, crossing his legs and resting his arms on the back of the couch. Caumano blinks, “Your high-” “Knives on the table, guard.” Glorfindel interrupts him and lets his eyes flicker down to his legs. Many others would have missed the minuscule flicker of emotion behind his eyes, lets get right down to the point here, and the guard slowly pushes his hands through the side cuts of his robe, keeping his eyes on him while he takes the knives slowly out of their sheaths, walking deliberately and placing them on the low table before Glorfindels dangling foot. 

He walks backwards to the door, not showing your opponent your back, excellent balance, he eyes the way his hips move very little with the placement of his feet, used to dancing formal, probably early trained if it bled that much into his movements and training. Glorfindel holds the guards gaze for a little longer, wondering if and when he would break the silence, and it takes a moment but he spots the twitch in the corner of his eye, confident, but not too much, and Glorfindel raises his eyebrow slightly, causing the guard to withdraw, eyes rising to somewhere above his shoulder level, submit. He waits a moment longer, there it is, the tension in your jaw, does this bother you? 

He reaches for the knives in front of him, sees the guards eyes drop for half a second, personal items? And eyes the knives. Beautiful silver, well made as far as he can judge it, slender and light enough to hide in clothes and not slow down any movement. The blade has no inscription but bears the seal of Anaires house, thought so, the handles are light colored wood with inlaid mother-of-pearl, a curious material for a lower noldorin noble, what ties you to the coast? Anaires house has settled in Tirion a long time ago, and the knives can’t be that old, it’s not long since the smithing of blades like these was invented. He eyes the guard at the door, you can’t be much older or younger than me, can you? They can’t be heirlooms, they must have been commissioned for you- Or for Anaire. Was it Earwen? Is that the reason I’ve never seen you at court before? Are you not noldorin but telerin? Somewhere between?  

He throws the knife in the air, catches it and at the same time the slight inhale the guard takes. Glorfindel places it back on the table, “Which of your parents hails from the teleri?” He takes the dare and it takes but a moment to pay off as he sees the guard shift his gaze from him to the side and back to him. 

“My mother, your highness.” He answers, quite evenly, a question you expected?

“Her name?” He leans back against the couch, folding his hands in his lap, watching the guard without pretense. 

“Macilwen, your highness. A distant cousin to her highness Earwen.” 

You’re educated in the telerin style? Glorfindel eyes his form, he’s a little too tall for the usual telerin style that puts so much emphasis on swiftness and flow, this kind of muscle must come from the heavier noldorin style or other kinds of training. He vaguely remembers Macilwen from a gathering in Tol Eressea where she had sparred with Elenwe who is favoring small blades and the fluid style of the teleri too, yet he doesn’t remember her having any kind of company with her. 

“Your father is of Anaires house?” He asks and the guard nods, “Cemnamo. He leads the household of her highness Anaires estate.” “Cemnamo? Son of Mistaner? It’s been a while, but his unconventional marriage to Sire has not been forgotten.” Glorfindel tells him, dropping a little venom into his voice, that was not the biggest scandal, but Nolofinwe sure told me enough about the incredible importance not to marry a commoner into the royal household. How do you feel about that, guard? 

“Yes, your highness.” the guard confirms. 

An interesting position, lowered prestige due to the marriage of your grandparents, yet still above the line of nobles allowed to learn the old styles due to the telerin relation. What brought you here though? Anaire invests little in the proceedings at court, the rest of her house almost as removed as the teleri? Elenwe must have been involved, with how she stepped in at the meeting. She must have made the proposition and Nolofinwe agreed, Anaire having the right man at hand. Did Earwen speak to Elenwe? How connected is he to his mothers house? He’s got no accent, he must either have been raised in Anaires house or been trained well enough. Elenwe has enough insight in my thoughts, should she wish to. What trouble has Anaire with me? Surely safety is a reason, but there must be more. 

“Take your weapons. And then bring me a drink.” The guard steps forward with an even pace, taking up his weapons, sheathing them quickly. Familiar movement, you’ve carried the, for a while. He turns to the small side table with the different bottles, mostly alcoholic. What are you chosing? His hand hesitates for a moment, but then he settles on Glorfindels favourite alcohol, clear and sweet, quite strong too. He knows enough about me to know what to go for. That hesitation was confusion of the bottles, not the goal. Elenwe must have told him. He’s not giving me water, maybe less a keeper and actually more of a guard. 

The guard steps up to him and bows as he hands him his glass, Glorfindel holds his gaze and lays his finger just the slightest bit over the guards. It miniscule but undeniably there, the unpreventable stretch of the pupil, the involuntary reaction to an object of desire. 

Interesting. So you’re not only a tool but have your own agency. How convenient it would be to- Elenwe. How convenient it would be for my guard to be attracted to me yet look close enough to what I prefer. Everything about the plan speaks of her. Remains the question of how much he reports back, how he’s supposed to guard me, who he’s supposed to keep me away from. 

He takes a sip and watches the guard stand still, his eyes once again politely averted while Glorfindel stares at him. It takes him until the last drops before the guards eyes flicker down at him and he reads the uneasiness in the way his body weight shifts and his eyes flicker to the window and back to him. Conscious of the time, knows we're going to be late. That's one quality I can work with. 

"Call my servants." he tells him, getting up and walking over to his dressing room. 

The guard does as he's told and quickly his servants file in, doing his hair and styling while the guard remains at the door, back straight and eyes focused on the wall beside the grand mirror. Not blatantly staring, respectful, but there's so much tension in his shoulders and jaw, how much of it is about the position, how much about me? He's feeling a little wicked joy at the thought of making the guard squirm, there'll be enough occasions to do so, see how long it will take until he breaks, until he drops his facade and all his secrets spill out of his ugly mouth. He lets the servants finish their work, blue and silver gowns, smooth hair, heavy jewelry, and doesn't look back, but the guard follows him, half a step behind him, Glorfindel feels his presence at his shoulder. 

He makes his way towards the door and he steps aside and opens it, quick enough that Glorfindel doesn't have to slow down, bows as he passes him. You really do the most, don't you? The door closes behind him and from there on the guard is behind him all the way to the grand throne room. 

A sea of voices grows louder as they near, passing through the door at the dias, already seeing Fingolfin and Anaire stand beside the throne, dressed in delicate silks and heavy velvet, diamonds and sapphires sparkling all over their clothes. 

Fingon, Aredhel, Turgon with Elenwe, and Argon are beside them, and Glorfindel joins Elenwes side, the guard staying close. From there on it's not long until Finarfin with Earwen and their children join them on the dais, before all the nobles and guests in the hall grow quiet, shortly before the clear silver trumpets from the towers announce the return of the king to the palace. 

Their sound is echoed by the trumpets in the hall and with a bright silver light Finwe and Indis enter through the golden doors of the throne room. Elves bow as they pass, both wear endlessly long and rich gowns, Finwe crowned with silver and diamonds and light, his eyes clear and his whole being surrounded by power, the high king walks up to the throne and takes his rightful place. 

"Narmoner, your highness." the man says, bowing low over Glorfindels hand, the wolf, how fitting . "It is my pleasure." elegant clothes, charming voice . 

"Pleased." he answers, drawing his hand back. The man glances over his hand through his lashes before he straightens up, golden jewelry shimmering around his neck and ears, small. Small jewels glitter in his dark hair. Excellent taste. 

"I never had the honor of visiting the high palace, is it true that one can see the whole realm from the high kings tower?" Narmoner asks, head angled in a kind smile, hands in front of him, showing off a collection of beautiful rings with delicate craftsmanship. 

Showing off your standing? These are quite good works, worthy of a prince even. He must be important to Feanaro if he's that decorated. 

"The only place higher and more beautiful is the holy palace of Lord Manwe and the Lady Varda." Glorfindel says, blindly reaching out to his guard, who places a cup into his hand. "All that the light of the trees touches is visible from there, and many things that aren't. The Lady's starlight leaves nothing uncovered." he continues with a reverence in his voice to veil the threat. 

Narmoners eyes follow the guards movement and Glorfindel spots some calculation there. 

Perfect, time for the bait. 

He takes a short sip before drawing his brows together, holding his cup out again. "Not that one. Get me the right wine." he says over his shoulder, not quite turning away from Narmoner, yet not turning towards his guard either. 

"My apologies, your highness." the guard says as Glorfindel makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, and Glorfindel hears him leave, spots the small, pleased twitch of Narmoners mouth. Thought so. 

"What wine do you prefer, your highness?" Narmoner asks with a hint of interest that, a glint in his eyes, that Glorfindel dislikes. Smalltalk or strategizing? 

"The stronger kind, none of that watered down juice the the vineyards of Tirion produce." Glorfindel tells him, showing a vaguely deprecative expression. 

"I once had the honor of trying one of the white wines of the mountains, it's impressive how exquisite vanyarin wine is, I had never thought wine could taste as delicious. Though the southern wine of Mantaroma comes close. A friend of mine makes it. It would be my honor to send you one, if your highness would like to try it." Narmoner tells him, almost monologuing, carefully watching, but not very carefully hiding his interest. 

“A friend of yours? Are they here? I would hope someone who creates wine good enough to compete with vanyarin wine would be highly valued here in Tirion.” Glorfindel says, a little dismayed. 

“No, unfortunately they are not, your highness.” Narmoner tells him, bowing his head.

“A pity.” Glorfindel shrugs and glances over at his guard at the wine table, acting even more bored. “Good servants are so hard to find these days.” Come on, just take the bait. 

“It would be an honor to assist you, your highness. Just say the word and I will send for the finer vintages I keep in my townhouse.” Townhouse? Sounds like he’s somewhere else most of time. Traveling a lot? 

Glorfindels nods, accepting, and Narmoner calls for a servant that stood at the side and sends him off with a few words. “You seem like someone who appreciates the finer things in life, tell me, what else would you recommend?” Glorfindel asks just as Caumano returns and he shoos him away with a wave of his hand, pointedly not looking away from Narmoner. He sees Narmoners eye his guard for a second, worried about him, are you?

  Narmoner continues to tell him about a special kind of sweets he discovered a while ago that seems to be some kind of bean made into paste that tastes slightly bitter. 

Their smalltalk ends and Glorfindel makes his round, chats with a few other visiting nobles until the announcement of the first dance and Glorfindel returning to Elenwes side with Caumano behind him. 

The music flows into a greater piece, imposant and loudly as Finwe and Indis, radiant and shining, step onto the dancefloor, their long robes sweeping around them as they hover in circles. It’s an elegant sequence of movements and Glorfindel finds himself captivated by it, watches in delight as Elenwe and Turgon join in and many more of the royal houses follow until the floor is filled with dancing couples. 

“Narmoner to the left.” the guard bends forward to tell him quietly. Asking for a dance? A good opportunity to get close to him. As expected he does offer his hand and Glorfindel lets him lead him to the dancefloor, finding to his surprise that he is a skillful dancer and easily moves with him. He spots the guard as they swirl through the room, how he nears Lady Autinde, do you two know each other? Or are you investigating her?  

“Thank you, your highness, it’s been a delight.” Narmoner says at the end, bowing over his hand so very gracefully, that the smile he gets in return is genuine. 

“It’s been a pleasure. A nice evening to you, though I will leave now. Good night.” Glorfindel tells him tough, Caumano instantly at his side, shielding him as they walk away. 

“The smell?” the guard asks and Glorfindel shakes his head, no surprise you’re in on that too, but this at least explains what you were doing with Autinde . 

“Nothing. He either hasn’t got anything to do with it or was successful in removing the smell quickly. Did you find anything?” please tell me you were instructed to do so.  

“Autinde faintly smelled of it, she worked with the paint again. But I couldn’t get out of her what it was, she blocked rather quickly.” the guard reports. 

“She’s wary?” 

“Very. Something must have tipped her off.” 

“Unfortunate… If she saw us together- Was it Narmoner? Or someone else we or I spoke to?” Glorfindel asks him but the guard shakes his head.

“Apologies, I haven’t noticed anything.” 

There are too many people around to see everything. We need to meet with Elenwe and the others later.

A few days later a beautiful chest waits for him on the low table by the window. It’s carved with wines and flowers, the flowers painted golden and inlaid with small white jewels. A rather expensive chest, Narmoner? He opens it and finds a sealed letter from him, laying atop of four bottles of dark red wine, alle decorated with artfully drawn labels, Angulocien of Mantaroma. It must be the friend he spoke of. He pulls one of the bottles out of the velvet inlay of the chest. It’s heavy and the glass is subtly painted, many details, it must be quite expensive. Or did he decorate them further to make it seem more expensive? 

He puts the bottle back and opens the letter, finds a queue of platitudes and niceties that are rather boring, a few compliments and an invitation to his townhouse, if you should find the wine to your liking. He puts the letter away into a box on his desk before he sits down on the couch, very tempted to try the wine. Let’s see if it holds up to his promises. He gets one of the glasses from his sideboard, uncorks the wine, and pours himself a glass. It’s got a strong smell, the dark red liquid swirling evenly, but instead of the fruity smell he is used to from the wine they get from Kôr, it smells rather spicy. It’s dry too, but it’s nice. He sits back down and slowly sips on it, and the more he drinks the more he likes it, he really wasn’t bluffing, this Angulocien makes a nice wine. It’s convincing enough that he sends a servant to bring a message to Narmoner that he’ll be visiting him in a few days time. 

He takes Narmoner up on his offer a few weeks later after Elenwe gave him the permission to go. 

With Caumano at his side he walks through the streets of Tirion, in full bloom for spring and the crafters guilds celebrations. It’s busy and he’s glad Caumano walks ahead, broad enough to part the masses of elves running around. 

Narmoners house is easily visible, positioned at the crossroads of two bigger streets, fenced in with a beautiful silver fence and lavish bushes of hyacinths growing through the bars. A servant greets him at the gate, leads him through the front yard, passing a bench with low hanging branches of a heavy tree, up to the entrance and into the foyer. 

From there Caumano stays with the servants while he walks through an open living room to the terrace where a table is set with wine and small pieces of food. 

Narmoner gets up from his chair, clad in red velvet, clearly aiming to impress, and the style is quite exquisite, even if a bit much red. From his ears dangle arrays of tiny rubies, a vibrant offset to the dark hair he pinned behind his head, falling smoothly down his back. 

“Your highness, it is my honor to welcome you in my humble home.” Narmoner bows low over his hand, such a clear show of submissiveness that Glorfindel wonders if he’s testing how much of his lies Glorfindel is ready to suffer or how stupid he thinks he is. But plain stupidity is easy to fake and comfortable to wear. 

“I did enjoy the wine and I’m curious to see what else you have to offer.” Glorfindel says. 

“That too is my pleasure.” Narmoner smiles at him, a sly and wolfish expression that makes his eyes go small. 

Glorfindel sits down and lets himself be served different wines, listens to Narmoner telling him about the differences in taste. And whenever Narmoner looks away, Glorfindel looks behind him, through the great windows, into his living room and inspects all the different ornaments and decorations. This portrait… The style of the frame seems familiar. 

“This one was immediately sold out, it was a favorite last year and I was only able to secure the last two barrels because of my long standing friendship to Angulocien.” Narmoner says and as Glorfindel tastes the seventh different wine in the course of the meeting, he finds himself agreeing. It is nice, somewhat fruity and mild, gentle to drink. 

“It certainly is obvious why it is favored.” He says, watching as an approving smile settles on Narmoners face, yet it does nothing to ease Glorfindels sense of danger about him. But I got to take the risk sometimes. “Would you mind parting with one of them?” He asks, swirling the wine around. 

“With one of the barrels?” Narmoner seems almost surprised, just for the smallest of moments, before he once again schooles his features into a pleased expression. 

“Yes, bring it to the palace.” 

“It would be my honor.” Narmoner says, would it really though? The hint on frustration that stays in the corners of his eyes and mouth gives Glorfindel way too much satisfaction. To have knocked him down from whatever pride had him thinking he was genuinely enjoying his presence might not have been the smartest of moves, but Glorfindel can’t find it in him to regret it. 

An hour later Narmoner brings him to the gates where Caumano is already standing, thanks him for his visit and promises to deliver the barrel as soon as possible. Only when they’re back in his rooms and he’s closed doors and windows he addresses his guard. 

“Did you see the frame in the foyer, the one of the portrait?” He asks and Caumano nods, 

“Yes. The oak leaves with the golden veins. A skillful painting. But a very big frame for the size of it” he says. So I wasn’t mistaken. It is from Autindes father. I wonder if she painted it. “I saw a barrel with oak leaves encasing a rose as an emblem. The same person?” Caumano continues and sinks down on the low seat on the other side of the couch. Glorfindel looks at him with disapproval. 

“Indeed.” He says slowly, “Did you smell anything sharp or unpleasant in the house?” 

Caumano shakes his head, which at least lets them know that Narmoner doesn’t have anything of the flowers within his townhouse.

The garden was overwhelmingly full of flowers and sweet and- He wonders how much of the wine blocked any other smells. But it would be foolish to invite me if he had anything lying around that I could identify. Either way it is far too convenient that Narmoner and Autindes family are involved. If anything it means that her family is in league with Feanaros supporters. Though I wonder who is higher in hierarchy.

Chapter Text

“You’re not what I thought.” Caumano tells him quietly, staring at him from his place on the wall. 

You don’t sound surprised, it’s something you’ve thought about for a while now, didn’t you? What is it that you were told about me? From Anaire, from Nolofinwe? You must have thought me foolish and unconcerned. 

Glorfindel places the robe on it’s hanger and back into the closet. “Feel free to elaborate, you didn’t care if your opinion was asked for until now, why bother starting?” He says, but it sounds way less cruel than it could have. 

There’s a small noise, a breath too quickly exhaled through the nose, almost a laughter, coming from Caumano. “You’re way more of a bitch than an idiot.” Caumano says.

That’s what you’re trying to catch me with? That is your bait? I’ve been called worse by people I care more for. 

“So?” He just shrugs and walks over to his vanity, sitting down. 

The soft rustling of Caumanos clothes follows him as do his footsteps and he comes to stand behind him, gently untangling the jewelry from his hair. “I like that.” Caumano says a little later, way out of rhythm of the conversation, dropping it almost like a sidenote. 

Glorfindel glances at him through the mirror, he is quite pretty with his dark hair and dark eyes, with his broad shoulders and strength. And he’s been loyal so far, useful, a quick thinker. 

“I don’t need you to.” Glorfindel tells him and begins to take off his rings and jewelry on his hands.

“No, probably not.” Caumano replies a little later, accompanied by the metallic clack of small jewels dropped into a ceramic bowl. 

But you wanted to say it anyway. 

“But I do anyway. It makes working with you way easier.” He brushes his fingers a little further against Glorfindels ears than necessary, and despite everything it makes the goosebumps rise on his arms. “And way more entertaining.” Caumano adds, starting to undo Glorfindels braids, repeating the motion on his other ear. 

Only someone with problems would seek other problems to deflect. What is it with you? Why are you searching for more? Glorfindel watches him through the mirror, the way Caumano acts so carefully, the way his eyes flicker into the mirror too only to find himself caught. 

That’s such a cheap game, did you really think you’d get me so easily? Really, I expected a bit more than that. He raises his eyebrow at him, not questioning but rather jovially, this is quite presumptuous, you know? 

“It surprised me.” He adds, leaving room for everything else that he doesn’t say but shows on his face, and between it all is the admiration, respect that catches him and that makes him sit up a little straighter. 

“You’re way more lose-lipped than I expected.” Glorfindel tells him, meeting the half offended glare he gets through the mirror with a challenging smile. 

“A quality that has proven quite useful for me, and others.” Caumano says, voice dropping lower as does his gaze. 

Really now . 

Glorfindel laughs at that, the back of his head dropping against Caumanos front. “And here I was thinking bodyguard meant something entirely different.” Glorfindel pushes himself away from the desk, swirling around on his stool to face Caumano, who kneels down in front of him to undo the braids on the side of his face. 

“But does it have to?” Caumano says, you’re aiming for nonchalance, but I see the redness on your neck. Your gameface is not as impeccable as you’d like to think. 

“Depends on who you ask.” Glorfindel tells him, it sounds a little too earnest to fit the mood and it makes Caumano look at him, meet his gaze. 

You do know that I can’t take a lover, don’t you? You’ve seen it, I can’t care for jealousy, I can’t make space for anyone in my heart. You must have seen enough to know I need to guard it closely, if I let anyone in I might not manage to close it again.

It’s enough to make Caumano truly look at him and there’s enough in his dark eyes that Glorfindel knows he understands, or maybe just begins to. 

Still, he places his hands on Glorfindels knees, an almost reverent gesture with how he kneels there. “I’m asking you.” He says, holding his gaze as he slowly pushes his hands further up and the edge of his shirt with them. 

“Does it have to?” 

How are words so little and so quiet so heavy? How are you so eager when you know how much trouble everything is and how little I can care about you, don’t you want to be cared for? Don’t you want to be loved one day? You know it can’t be me. Won’t be me. We’re so different. 

“No. It doesn’t.” Glorfindel says quietly and maybe the wicked smile that settles on Caumanos lips does make a wave of excitement run down his body, and just maybe, there’s a flicker of affection in those dark eyes that settles straight in his chest just before Caumano lowers his head.

“Why him?” Glorfindel asks her, staring at the water running through the small pipes and dripping into the flowerbeds, disappearing in the earth. 

Each droplet sparkling silver and blue before it’s swallowed, not to be seen again. There’s the familiar clinking sound of a fine teacup meeting a saucer, Elenwe placing both back on the small table beside her with a rustling of her sleeves. 

“Why not?” She counters with a hint of amusement. 

The waterflow is uneven, its drops are sometimes a stream, and every few seconds nothing comes out at all. Maybe something is in the lower pipes blocking it? 

“He called me a bitch and thought it a compliment.” Glorfindel tells her, pulling on the fabric his pants fabric, huffing in irritation over the strange conversation. 

A laugh, light as bells and clear as the droplets fills the air, and for a moment everything around them seems brighter in the light of Elenwes amusement. “I had a feeling he was a bit strange under that calm demeanor.” She tells him a moment later, mouth still wide and eyes still shining. “But I had hoped he would behave appropriately for his job for more than a mere two years. Though you two seem to make a good team. And I’ve heard you make good progress on your fighting skills.” She hums for a moment and he looks over at her, sees her tilt her head. “Are you not comfortable with him?” She asks with a calculation in her eyes that has Glorfindel pull up the walls around his mind instantly.

“I am, that is not the problem.” Glorfindel shoots back, perhaps a little too quick, a little too forceful and he curses himself as he sees Elenwe raise an eyebrow at him. 

“You must understand, any partnership that is exposed to such strain, such stress, requires compromise and cooperation. I thought him to be reliable and I hope that he proves to be exactly that.” 

Compromise and cooperation. He tries to, I think. He’s always careful, perfect manners, he’s vigilant and discreet. I hadn’t thought about whether these things come natural to him, don’t know which of his actions are a compromise for him, between what he wants and what I need. Maybe I should try to cooperate better. 

“He is, I don’t doubt that.” Glorfindel says with a frown, looking down at his hands. 

“It’s merely his personality that you dislike?” Elenwe asks and as he looks back up he spots a mirthful sparkle in her eyes. 

Glorfindel rolls his eyes at her, “Forget it.” He pushes himself up and strides back into the palace, clear and high laughter following him all the way.

Chapter Text

“I like you.” Glorfindel laughs, voice full of happiness and amusement, cupping Caimies cheek, watching a smile form on her pretty face, lips turning up, looking almost triumphant in the revelation of his words. 

“But you’re clearly overestimating your worth here.” He adds, still kind and with a mockery of empathy in his gaze, aiming to hurt. It hits and he sees her freeze as he stands up, drops his hand from her face. He turns away, feeling no need to watch her cry or fall apart, and says 

“You may see yourself out.” as he helps himself to a drink and struts over to the balcony, sitting comfortably on the low couch, enjoying the slight breeze that blows over from the sea, and watches the lights of Tirion while he hears her get up and soon after, the door opens and closes. He shakes his head, takes a sip from his glass. The nerve of some of these people.  

“That was pretty harsh, don’t you think?” A familiar voice sounds from the doorway as Caumano makes his way into the room, dropping his helmet and weapon on the seat by the fireplace as he always does before appearing in Glorfindels peripheral vision. Glorfindel raises an eyebrow at him.

“What do you even care?” He asks, eyes drifting to the darkness of the ocean. 

Caumano laughs, “You’re in a wicked mood again. She wasn’t the spy?” and puts his hands on his hips, his beautiful black hair swaying with the movement. 

Glorfindel can’t quite stop his eyes from tracking the movement before looking back to the ocean. “No. Just some misguided servant vying for attention. Thinking she could bewitch me with her little songs and tricks.” Glorfindel lets his distaste show clearly on his face. 

“No wonder she was crying when she ran into me. She’s found her master.” Caumano grins. 

“It takes very little to be her master.” Glorfindel says, knowing in the moment the words leave his mouth that he’s given Caumano exactly what he hoped for.

 “Oh, sad, she was so pretty, but she’d be so overwhelmed with me.” He winks and Glorfindel rolls his eyes.

“You’re lucky that you’re strong, I don’t see how anybody would hire you for speaking.” Glorfindel says and watches Caumano come closer, sit down on the low couch, eyes unashamedly on Glorfindels neck. 

“Why would I even want to speak, there are way cleverer things to do with a mouth.” 

Glorfindel entertains his shenanigans for a moment, finding a familiar challenge in the depths of Caumanos grey eyes and in the dimples of his cheeks. “Holding it closed, for one.” Glorfindel says, yet shifting enough to angle himself further to his companion. 

Caumano smiles, “Do you want me to help you with that?” He says, leaning over, arm resting on the backrest of the couch and the other hovering over Glorfindels knee.

“You can barely hold your own.” Glorfindel says, putting the wine cup away. 

“Maybe I need help then.” Caumano grins. 

“You definitely need help, not just in this.” Glorfindel tells him, eyeing Caumano carefully. 

Eager, restless, there are shadows under his eyes, a bruise on his collarbone, blisters on his hands, fresh from training?  

Caumano sighs and sits back when he doesn’t get the reaction he hoped for. “You were right, the one from the walk in the garden, Ulundono is part of their network. I followed him for a while, lost him when he entered the estate of Ceurie. I stuck around for a while but you’ve seen her sons, didn’t you?” Caumano makes a vague gesture and puts his legs up, bumping against Glorfindels. I see. 

“They all look the same to you.” Glorfindel says and Caumano nods.

“I don’t know how they manage it, they all wear the exact same hairstyle and change clothes many times, I can’t keep track of them through the windows.” he says, shaking his head and dropping it against the backrest. 

Glorfindel gets caught up in the way his throat looks so beautifully bared and inviting and he thinks about pushing him off the couch. 

“Seems like I’ll be paying them a visit in a few days.” Glorfindel says, I’ll need to introduce a theme at the meetings, something I’d need to research. Then talk to Anaire about it, get a meeting set up, should take about a week, maybe ten days until it’s safe to visit them and-

Curies estate is wide and colorful, many high towers giving it a strangely unbalanced look. Even the tiles on the roof are different from tower to tower. It surely is hard to miss. Glorfindel nears it on horseback, Caumano beside him, stretching his neck to see beyond the high hedge, but even from their points of vantage it's impossible to see more than the upper half of the first floor. A very private estate. 

Even though Curie is of middle standing in the noble houses, her ancestors among the first group of eldar that Finwe himself came from, she cared little for proceedings at court and preferred to keep to her studies. A true noldorian fashion, easy to see why she would support Feanaro. 

A servant lets him in and leads him through the opulent estate, high hallways with a myriad of paintings and installments along the ceiling. Her wealth is quite excessive, almost as much as her taste in color. There wasn’t a single spot on any of the walls that wasn’t somehow decorated or colored, no white, no black, utterly different from the clean and calm white walls he knows from the castle on Taniquetil, and it makes him restless. Their short walk ends in front of a grand oak door with silver inlaid stars, all in feanorian fashion and Glorfindel thinks, this can’t be this easy, right? But then the servant opens the door.

The first thing he sees is a pin on an elf's chest that he very well recognizes. The second is a similar one right next to it, and right next to that another pin. Five almost identical faces are staring at him in various stages of surprise, all the same blue eyes and dark hair, clad in the most outrageous colorful outfits, simply decked in all kinds of pins and jewels, glittering in the warm light filtering through the windows. 

“Prince Laurefindele!” One of them says and suddenly this glittering, colorful group of identical elves is moving towards him, all brightly smiling, “Welcome!” They say and one of them, Silcalarion?, starts to bow, the others following suit. “We are so honored to welcome you in our home. How may we be of help? Is it about the lamps for the palace? We’d be delighted to help with that! I just had another idea for ambience lighting!” He says and from the long sleeve of his purple robe one of his brothers pulls a glowing stone, a feanorian lamp, and the room around them shimmers and glitters in specks of light as the other brothers shift. It really is pretty. 

For a moment he is caught up in the beauty of it, thousands upon thousands of spots dancing over the wide walls and ceiling, making the dark painted room itself seem as if it’s made of nightsky. No, not pretty, it’s stunning. He looks back down to the one who spoke to him, noticing that he has not only one of the pins but three of them, all in different directions pinned to various parts of his chest. This really doesn’t seem like a symbol worn… this is an experiment. 

“It’s a wonderful idea.” Glorfindel remarks honestly and sees all five faces light up with identical grins. The only thing missing to make it truly unsettling would be them moving in unison. 

“Thank you, your highness.” Another one says, in a voice so similar to the first ones, he hadn’t believed someone else spoke hadn’t he seen his mouth move. 

He has a hard time reigning in his bewilderment but manages a strained smile. Then he notices among the hundreds of pins another one that seems familiar, an old sigil of the smiths guild. A shipwrights sigil. A pin of the Ambarlindele Choir. A lilly on silver ground, the pin of a noble telerin house. A harp on blue ground, the sigil of a minor noble house from Valmar. A small likeness of Aule. They just grabbed every little bauble they got their hands on, had they? He quickly looks over to the others and sees many of them have the same pin multiple times. No, this can’t be, they can’t be in on all of these groups, they must have gotten these pins from somewhere else. It doesn’t make any sense and then he sees a bowl full of more pins and jewels on a side table. This isn’t a lead, this is a joke. They must have discarded the pins after I stole one. 

He doesn’t quite know how he gets through the following explanation of their planned installment but it ends with him back in the foyer, a small feanorian stone in hand and a servant leading him to the door. While he hasn’t seen in on the way in he sees it now well enough. A thick framed portrait of Feanor himself hung above the entrance door like a warden, the frame wrung with wooden leaves, unmistakably in the style of Autindes house. Or was I the joke in this?

Even as he reports back to Elenwe he wonders if he wasn’t just led around by the nose, if the most obvious wasn’t hidden in plain sight and he was unable to see it.

Chapter Text

Curies estate was not the first nor the last of estates on Elenwes long list of potentially dangerous associates and Glorfindel feels less nervous with every visit he pays and every noble he checks. 

Tanwenos manor shouldn’t be any different. The man is a crafter, made many of the chairs for the orchestra and has only recently been added to the list when Elenwe noticed he has the chairs carved by Autindes family.

The manor is different. He takes a short walk through the garden when he suddenly gets dizzy and the servant accompanying him offers him to sit and the next thing he knows he sees the servants face melt off and feels himself fall into a dark chasm.

Only slowly he hears Aredhels voice through the fog that follows and he awakes to a brightly lit room, my own rooms, with Aredhel by his side. 

“Elenwe told me you collapsed. Are you feeling better?” She asks him and there is a sharp calculation in her eyes as he nods. “Good.” She says then and her tone lowers, getting down to business. “I need you to explain to me what happened and what you felt.”

As it turns out Aredhel possesses great knowledge about poisons and Glorfindel hadn’t and how easily it knocked him out scared him deeply. He is already determined to learn everything about it, not fall for it again, when she tells him that she had to get used to some of it on her travels, that it barely affects her anymore. This is possible? I could become resistant against it? And maybe she hadn’t seen the plan form in his mind when she lets servants bring him a few of her books, but it doesn’t take long until he takes the first bit of a sleep draught just to see how much he can handle.

It’s a slow dance, finding the supporters of Feanor within the castle, meeting after meeting, party after party, and Caumano stays at Glorfindels side, quickly becoming a fixture there he can easily sense. More and more often he sleeps on the low couch in his bedroom instead of the antechamber, the sound of his breath at night becoming as familiar as the sound of the waves on the coast beneath the palace. 

Some nights Glorfindel wakes to muffled mourning, finding Caumano cowering, his face hidden beneath his pillow. Sometimes he’s shaking, sometimes it’s just labored breathing, but no matter how he sees him, he can’t keep himself from thinking about it in the waking hours either. 

What has hurt you that you’re seeing it in your dreams? What’s keeping you from sleeping? I know I’m not sleeping either. The poisons tire me.

Elenwe asked him to come to yet another smaller festivity in the small hall, the orchestra playing a surely beautiful song and Glorfindel knows that she asked him to pay attention to her new favorite flutist that she just won’t talking about, but he cares so little for the musicians, he is tired of hearing about it. 

They can’t measure up to the music of home anyway, none of them could ever measure up to the choirs in the castle. 

It’s got him in a wicked mood and he feels so terribly bored by them, all of them bland, the noldor all looking alike, the few of vanyarin descent a pale imitation of his people, like the watered down wine they serve here. Not that the constant usage of poison makes it any easier to bear. He has a headache and nausea for weeks now. He looks for Caumano, finds him lingering near the exit. 

Eru, I hate it here. Don’t you? There’s nothing to do and I don’t feel like getting drunk. 

He’s watching him closely for a while, perhaps more so than he should, enough for Fingon to remark on it. “I must say, he’s quite nice to look at. Though he’s not really fitting for your standing, but as a companion a good choice.” He says utterly unprompted at one of his smaller gatherings, which somehow still manage to include half the palace's unwed nobility. 

Glorfindel shoots him an annoyed look, “Yes, if anyone would know about unfit partners, it’s definitely you.” He tells him, grabbing the glass of wine directly out of Fingons hand, downing it in one. 

Fingon makes an offended noise, “That was quite unnecessary, Laure.” 

“As were your words and your opinion.” Glorfindel shoots back, crossing his arms. 

Don’t look so irritated, I don’t need your guidance or your well meaning blessing, whatever I do with my guard is business alone. You’re keeping out of most other businesses so easily, don’t try to pry into this. Go have fun ‘distracting’ your target, I’m sure you’re working so very hard. 

“What has gotten into you? I invite you to relax and you’re trying to start a fight?” Fingon frowns, looking more hurt than anything else. Oh yes, pout, that’ll surely work on me. 

“Your father and sister already interfer enough with my life, I’d welcome it if you would refrain from joining them.” Glorfindel says, voice a little lower. You know exactly what my problem is. 

“If you’re this terribly unhappy here, you should just leave.” Fingon tells him in return, “I don’t need you moping around.” 

Moping? I have every right to be angry! Just because you refuse to see it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. 

“Perhaps I should.” He says instead, shoves the empty wine cup at Fingon and turns towards the door, seeing Caumano hurrying after him from where he waited speaking to some of the musicians near the wine table. He’s almost reached the door when it opens and he’s stopped right by Maedhros' tall figure blocking the entrance. 

“If you don’t mind.” He says, voice flat enough to have even the most simple minded understand that he means anything but, making a step towards him, eyes narrowing. 

Maedhros looks surprised, and the one good quality he has is that he at least knows when not to pick fights and even though he gives him a disapproving glance, he steps aside, letting Glorfindel slip through. 

Yes, as if I’d care. 

And find directly behind him the reason he’s glad to have decided to leave, Celegorm with a wide grin, looking as if he’d have five terrible and dangerous ideas on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to cause chaos. 

“Well if that isn’t little Tulu,” He raises his arms as if to hug him, playing the joy up to a mockery that looks cruel in his eyes. 

Caumano bumps into him, he never did before. Caumanos movement has him irritated enough to simply sidestep Celegorm with a short, “No.” that earns him another loud “Hey!” behind him, but Celegorm doesn’t follow as he walks as quickly as he can without running. 

He’s ducking into the next corridor before he turns to Caumano, the words instantly dying on his tongue as he sees the expressionless look in his eyes. He looked fine when we left. What happened? He bumped into me after he’s seen Nelyo and Tyelko, what reason has he got to be afraid of either of them? His mind instantly supplies the memories of Caumano wake at night and the chance of Maedhros being the cause of it seems small, Celegorm though? He’s caused enough grief to traumatize a hundred elves twice over. The corridor might be empty but we shouldn’t talk about this here. He turns again, Caumano following on his heel before, bringing them back to his room, closing the door behind them before he shoves Caumano over to the couch. 

Pale, empty eyes, shaking hands, a bad memory? Fear? 

He reaches for Caumanos face to hold him, but it seemed to have been just the wrong move, and he finds himself shoved into the pillows in half a second, his arm pulled up to his neck, shoulder hurting instantly. He lets out a short, surprised cry, going pliant despite the pain, mind wheeling. 

Who’s hurt him that this is his reaction? This isn’t just training, is it? The way he was completely out of it? Maybe it was how I reached for him that triggered this, was he hurt like that? 

Caumano is breathing hard and Glorfindel holds still, “Caumano.” He says, softly, and it takes a moment longer, but he let’s go of his arm and Glorfindel feels the weight shift away and off of him. 

He gets up, finds Caumano bent over, head in his hands, eyes covered. Glorfindel leans back, drawing himself up on the couch, unwilling to reach for him again as much as leaving him alone, between curiosity a flicker of care making itself known. Caumano needs a long time until he’s sitting up again, letting his head drop over the back of the couch and continuing to stare at the ceiling for another while. 

Still pale, eyes red. He cried? Marks of his nails on his palms, short of bleeding. Body terribly tense, you’re in fight-mode, this must be due to this memory. 

“It was Turcafinwe.” Caumano says eventually. “I was… in love. But she wasn’t. At least not as much as I was.” He’s covering his eyes again. “She wanted to go hunting and I went with her, hoping to somehow win her love. I hadn’t realized she only wanted to run after him. We got separated. I ran into him first, he was mad, we fought. Woke up tied to a tree to the sounds of them both. Had made me watch them, hidden away. She tried to keep him from leaving afterwards, confessed her love and he laughed in her face.” 

It’s so shortcut, I wonder what else he’s leaving out. 

“Never saw her again. Almost starved there bound to the tree. Irisses hunters found me and freed me.” he ends the tale quickly and quietly. 

That’s why you’re so indebt to her, that’s why you’re here. And why you’ve broken down like that. He watches the way Caumano holds himself and wonders how long their fight was, how severe Tyelpe hurt him before he’s blacked out. He’s never been one to end such things quickly. Not if he’s in the mood. Still he can’t reach out to him. How would I even offer comfort in this, what is there that I could do? There isn’t anything really.

Chapter Text

It starts with Aredhel returning to the palace, the smell of the wilds in her clothes and starlight in her eyes. 

"The great hunter has invited me to ride with him." She says, running into one of the council chambers without knocking, throwing her bow onto their plans before running up to Fingolfin and hugging him tight. 

The high kings sways but holds her with a surprised "Irisse!", only one second before a gasping servant comes to stand in the doorway, knocks, and calls out "Her highness, Princess Irisse has returned!" performing his duty to the utmost bafflement of most advisors present. 

Anaire closes her book, rising from her chair while Glorfindel spots the barest twitch of a smile on Caumanos lips in the edge of his vision. What a way to end this utterly boring meeting, cousin. 

"We will postpone this discussion. Lord Mahtan, you're welcome to remain in the palace with your entourage until the discussion can be continued." Anaire says, bowing his head just slightly, Mahtan in return bowing deeper, as do his lords and ladies. Mahtan eyes flicker over at Aredhel for a second and Glorfindel spots a small line around his eye from the side, reminding you of someone? 

The other lords and ladies fall in line behind him, none of them tense in any way, it's good we’re not having any conflict with Mahtans people, others would surely have reacted worse to the interruption of the discussion about the placement of their people on the next starlight-feast. He looks over to Fingolfin and Aredhel who smiles brightly as she speaks. 

"-and then we'll have a great feast! And Lord Orome will be there and I will ride one of his steeds!" she says. 

"That sounds wonderful, dear. Which one of you cousins or brothers do you want to take with you?" What? Glorfindel frowns and throws a glance at Caumano whose eyes are focused on Aredhel. 

He touches his hand to Caumanos as he passes him, easy, and walks up to Aredhel and Fingolfin. 

“I haven’t yet decided.” Aredhel says, still smiling widely, it’s not like you really care either, not when you’re this giddy.

“Laurefindele, you could use some training. It would be quite beneficial for you to join.” Fingolfin says, looking at him. Small slight, but no maliciousness in his eyes. No venom, just the usual way of being disappointed I’m not the fit fighter his other children are. 

“Of course. It would be an honor to join a hunt led by the great hunter.” He says, inclining his head. Aredhel throws him a glance, you’re still smelling of the woods, don’t try me for fitting in. 

“It will be difficult.” She says, don’t try to hide your displeasure behind worry, we all know you’re not thinking me even an adequate rider or hunter, no need to sound careful, “You will have little joy when you’re not an expert rider.” 

“Thank you, cousin, but I’m sure I’ll manage.” He answers, “If you permit, my King, I would be delighted to join the hunt.” Fingolfin looks approving, sometimes I wonder, you’re always so controlling, yet absolutely blind when someone is merely agreeing. Or are you? He’s glad Elenwe is currently elsewhere, or he’d have to be way more careful with his thoughts.

Caumano is eerily quiet as they pack, eyes strictly on the task, mind somewhere else entirely. Don’t let them see your unease, don’t let them see your weakness, he wants to say, even though he knows Caumano will be thinking about little else but that. He watches him for a moment, wondering, would you kill him if you could? Truly get rid of him for good? How much anger is there really? And what does it help you? Caumano doesn’t look at him at all, only gathers their bags and waits at the door, stance tense and eyes averted, and for once Glorfindel doesn’t look for more conflict.

The feast is little more than a small gathering in the middle of the wilds, a few blankets decked out with food and pillows, a place to return to and to rest while most others already ran off. Glorfindel loosens the lacing of his leather vest as he leans back, Caumano at his side, handing him a cup. 

“Are you not going to hunt?” He asks, looking around, always shifting. You’re so tense, what exactly happened to you in the woods? 

“Should I? Someone at least should stay at the blankets, what if a wild animal would try to drink the wine? How would I excuse their suffering?” Glorfindel waves his hand around in a vague gesture. 

“As always the benevolent patron of the helpless, I see.” Caumano answers dryly, taking a cup for himself and downing it in one. 

“Since you’re so very good at that, I don’t think you require my assistance any further, do you?” he continues, eyes drifting over the clearing. 

“Why, dear guard, whatever would I do without you? Who will protect me from the wild wolf should he come?” Glorfindel sinks back into the pillows full of dramatic antics and sees Caumano roll his eyes. 

“If your well renowed silver tongue can’t persuade him to behave you might as well fuck him.” Caumano says, downing another cup with a bitter laugh before he coughs. 

This bad? He narrows his eyes, knuckles white, hackles raised, legs almost twitching, ready to run. I see your eyes, you’re haunted, yet hunting. Glorfindel huffs, “Hoping I’d do that with everyone who annoys me to be the first in line? Be gone, Caumano. I’m enjoying your absence much more than your presence.” He throws at him in a dismissive tone, only seeing out of the corner of his eye how Caumano bows before he turns and leaves for the forest. 

Don’t call for more trouble than you can handle, getting another guard would be such a terrible hassle.

Celegorm jumps and Caumano is too slow to evade the mad maneuver in which he's gripped by the waist, both arms of Celegorm winding around his waist, lifting Caumano up, and then he falls over backwards, sending Caumano headfirst into the forest floor. 

Glorfindel winces as he hears Caumanos shout of pain and the wild laughter of Celegorm who turns around, gribs his foot and pulls. In an impressive show of strength Celegorm collects momentum and lifts Caumano by the foot, swinging him around, letting him crash into the next tree, and something cracks ugly, he's going to cry about that for weeks on end . 

"Hey, Laurefindele." he looks up to see Aredhel approach him, hems ripped, boots dirty, blood on her hands, fresh from a kill. 

"Isn't that your… guard?" she asks, cocking her head. Glorfindel looks back, seeing Celegorm kneeling on Caumanos bare back, neither really clothed anymore, Celegorm mad cackling as he slams Caumanos face into the floor over and over again. He sure has gone mad, this kind of violence is extraordinary. 

"Caumano? Yes." he says, taking another sip out of the wineflask, half a bottle left… If Celegorm knocks Caumano out I'd have to search for another one myself…  he makes a face, watches as Caumanos face is bloodier each time Celegorm pulls it off the floor, and dirtier. I really hope there's water nearby. 

"Don't you want to step in?" Aredhel says, sounding upset as she crosses her arms, and drag blood over your pretty silk sleeves? Irisse, please.  

"He's standing up, isn't he? Still on his feet, he's fine." Glorfindel says as Caumanos headbutts Celegorm hard enough to make him back off, to get on his feet again, even if swaying so hard, he almost falls again. 

"He is bleeding a lot. If this goes on, he might die." Aredhel says, is that concern dear cousin? For my guard or for the consequences for the oversized feral rat? 

"No, he's fine. This is important character building for him." Glorfindel shrugs, irritating Aredhel further. 

“How ironic that this isn’t even surprising for you.” Aredhel snaps and whistles sharply, drawing Celegorms attention, a moment long enough for Caumano to give him an impressive kick that has him flying at least three meters, crashing onto the floor and rolling. 

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” Glorfindels sighs, lifting the flask just as Aredhel turns to him, asking “What? Why?” while he hears a shout and a crash in the background, ignoring the picture of it deliberately. Don’t be dull, cousin, as if he wouldn’t pay back any hit tenfold. If anyone’s killing my guard, it’s you. 

“Oh.” He hears from Aredhel, shortly followed by a loud smacking and cracking, and a victorious roar from Celegorm. 

“Exactly.” Glorfindel says, looking sadly at the empty flask, swaying to hear it’s empty, feeling himself sway a little bit. Aredhel hisses stressed before she takes off and Glorfindels eyes trail her. Go get him, take him away, yes? I really feel like making stupid choices and that would be way too unfortunate for my face. 

After Celegorm left, Caumano lays groaning on his bed of moss and broken twigs. Glorfindel sighs as he rises from his blanket, grabs a second flask of wine and strolls over to his defeated guard. That’s what you get. Does it feel any better? He wordlessly sits beside him, leaning on his elbow, stretching as if they're just two elves relaxing on a soft meadow. He sips on his wine while he lazily watches Caumano, who hisses and groans with every movement. 

"Enjoyed the show?" Caumano presses out eventually and Glorfindel turns to him. Look at you, bruised and still ready for another fight. His grey eyes rest on Glorfindel, yet hold nothing but, like heavy clouds drawing together, a promise of storm and thunder. 

"Almost as much as you seem to enjoy eating dirt." Glorfindel tells him, holding out the other flask of vanyarin liquor he brought along. Caumano fights to get back on his elbows and his face is drawn into a pained grimace. How much are you hurting inside that you're willing to take on so much more pain? That you're enjoying this? Caumano takes the flask and downs it in one, then chokes and coughs. It isn't easy, is it? How do you deal with it? If not numbing it? He looks at his chest, finding a multitude of worrying bruises and small cuts. You should clean that up. 

"I almost got him." Caumano says, when he's breathing normally again. 

"You really didn't." Glorfindel says, earning a furious snarl from Caumano.

"What do you even know about it?" What don't I? Bound to serve in a conflict I neither care for nor am I made for. How I learned the hard way what it means to be at court, how I'm losing a little joy every day, yet can't get away? How I'm trying to keep it together so that my siblings don't have to? He holds Caumanos gaze and slowly the realization is sinking in. Perhaps it's wrong to show him, to let him know, but a small part of him longs for understanding. 

You're tired of this too, whatever weighs your chains down, they're still there. There's a small pull in Caumanos lips and his eyes darken, look at me, can you see it? Turn away, I dare you. He doesn't. Caumano doesn't look away and the longer Glorfindel looks at him, the more he sees the small cracks in his facade of bravado.

He’s limping all the way back to the castle, too proud to be healed, anger and venom seeping out of him and Glorfindels skin itches, needs him to get away from him as much as he needs to let his own discomfort out on him, the tension between them ugly and full of frustration. They take the route around the gardens and Glorfindel looks over all the wild flowers in bloom, carefully tended to to show all their beauty as Yavanna intended, and he feels homesick, feels so terribly close to throw it all away in a burst of fury. 

A blue clad figure walks through the gardens, a beautiful gown, in their hand a box, a musician? They turn and he sees his face, clear blue eyes and an expression of nervousness. 

You don’t know how it is, do you? He thinks, unable to look away for a moment, from that face that switches between nervousness and excitement, something so terribly soft in his eyes, Glorfindel feels as if he’s taking too much just by looking and averts his eyes. 

No, you wouldn’t. I hope you never have to. I wish I hadn’t. 

He makes his way to his rooms anyway, Caumano and all his ugly anger on his heels.

Chapter Text

He’s attending another small party for the higher nobility, Caumano left at the door with other guards and servant, hoping to be rid of him for a few hours, the marks of him still to clear on his skin and too fresh on his mind. 

He walks over to where Elenwe sits with Turgon, both holding hands, sitting awfully close and Elenwe smiling so brightly, Turgons eyes shining, Glorfindel wants to turn and run. He sits down instead on the soft low couch and downs one of the two glasses he brought before he even bothers to greet them. 

Elenwe reaches out to him and he gives her a smile, surely not fooling her, but sign enough that he doesn’t want her in his thoughts. She looks over to Caumano anyway and something settles in her gaze that he doesn’t like at all, something that looks way too much like pity or compassion. 

Don’t. I don’t want it. I don’t need it. It’s not good but it helps. It’s easier to bear. 

He doesn’t know how much she got but she lets him be for a while, continuing her low chattering with Turgon who does a hilarious impression of his older brother and Glorfindel almost snorts into his fifth drink. As he orders the sixth Elenwe shoots him a worried glance but he ignores her until she pats his knees, pointing to the orchestra taking place. 

Same old- wait. Why is he wearing vanyarin accents? He frowns over at Elenwe, but her eyes are on the very same flutist that is clad in a far too expensive blue robe for someone he doesn’t know, and therefore not noble, with vanyarin accents that remind him of Elenwe. It tells him enough though and when he hears him play he perks up, he really is good. You’ve once again picked a good one, aunt. 

He finds himself studying him, the way he keeps his eyes closed while he plays and how he seems utterly lost in the very beautiful melody. I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You were there, not too long ago at the small gathering Findekano threw. You played there too. 

A spark of amusement settles in his chest as he remembers the moment, you do have good manners. And you’re not from the palace, nor are you from any of the lower noble houses. Who are you and what do you want here? 

He sees clearly how he had stumbled when he had handed him the drink, another spy then? But Elenwe would see through you immediately, wouldn’t she? But what if you don’t know you’re spying? It would be convenient to have a stranger in the palace who relays information, may it be due to affections or mistake, a stranger who wouldn’t be missed, who could easily be counted as collateral damage, should you make any mistakes that remove you from the palace…  You’re a bit wider built than the musicians… A craftsman then, you said that you get home every now and then? And you also said you’d like to play at dinner of the high king, a good place to gather intel. So, who are you? What are you? And was the moment just well acted or are you really that easy to fluster? 

He cocks his head, staring at him, the way his dark hair falls over his shoulder as he moves, like ink. You do lack the grace of most musicians though. He spots Caumano walk over to him, replacing his empty glass with a new one and way the couch below him shifts as he moves tells him enough about how drunk he is already. 

“Perhaps it is enough, guard.” Elenwe’s voice sounds from the side and he looks over at her, sees the edge of his vision swim.

“It’s a party, isn’t it?” He says irritated and holds onto the glass Caumano gave him, who bows to Elenwe and steps behind Glorfindel. 

“A party, yes.” She says with a cadence that makes him looks away and feel ashamed no matter how much he wants to be angry about it. He doesn’t want to hear from Caumano either and looks back to the flutist, watches him play. It’s easy to get lost in the music now that he feels mildly numb to most things around him, though he still sees how Caumano keeps quite a few people from approaching him. 

He doesn’t look at them but keeps watching the strange musician that somehow made it into his aunts good graces. You must have a secret. When the orchestra is done playing he wonders whether that secret is not having friends, as he sees the others group as they always do and spots him looking uncertain as he carefully puts his flute away. Wood, plain but well loved, you brought it here, didn’t you? Such a simple instrument, it speaks for your talent and hard work that you make it sound so good.

Instead of chattering off he watches him help the other servants put the chairs from the orchestra aside and somehow that is what throws Glorfindel off. You’re not trying to network and mingle with the others? Why are you taking on work that isn’t assigned to you? And why are you doing it with such a kind smile? 

He notices easily enough how the other servants appreciate his help, how they work with him, it can’t be the first time you do this when you already know their way of working and what needs to be done. But why? Why are you helping them?  

It doesn’t make sense at all and when everything is put aside Glorfindel decides it’s time for him to leave as well. 

Maybe I really shouldn’t have been drinking so much. 

But then again Caumanos hands feel softer when he is like this and it’s easier to have him around and he makes his way back to his rooms, familiar steps beside him. 

Caumano leaves him as he lays in bed, head swimming with the strange longing he only ever finds at the bottom of the last cup. 

I miss home. 

He looks out of the window and at the stars, sees the constellations his father taught him, Anarrima bright against the darkness beyond, made to guide the way to Valinor . The bed below him is gently tilting from side to side and he wonders how the sailors feel, surrounded by darkness, only ever looking up at the stars to guide them. 

I wish I had stars to guide me, comes to his mind and a second later he closes his eyes, annoyance about his maudlin mood rising, yet doing little to suppress that longing. Is it planned? Were we meant to come here only to argue? Within your stories, grandfather, they seem to be united, not this constant struggle for power that Elenwe leads. You, Finwe, Olwe… you trusted each other more, did you not? I don’t think neither Feanaro nor Nolofinwe ever trusted each other. I don’t even know if Elenwe trusts Nolofinwe. Or if I do. It’s not like I can do anything about it if I wouldn’t. He sighs heavily and curls around one of the pillows in his bed. 

I wish Isifinde would have trusted me, or that I could have trusted her. I hate that she left me. Caumano is no replacement. He feels a little guilty at that even though he knows it is true. I can’t trust him like I trusted you, sister, he thinks, followed by another wave of sadness, I shouldn’t have trusted you like I did. I just wish I could have- Wish I could have someone who doesn’t let me down, someone I can rely on. It’s a pitiful feeling, he decides, yet doesn’t know what to do against it, and with the bed still tilting and the stars still blurring, he doesn’t really want to do anything against it. Who does even care if I’m sad for a moment if I get back up tomorrow and do my job? 

Itamë comes back with intel and another estate is to be searched. 

Getting into Helcons office is easy, he commands the servants to stay down, the door is unlocked. With Itamë they quickly search the content, finding shipping records of Autindes drawings, of her fathers frames, in the matter of minutes. He really didn’t think anyone was onto him. Itamë takes the folders and exits via the balcony, another pair of agents waiting to catch her, bringing their findings to Elenwe as quickly as they can. Left alone in the office Glorfindel turns to Caumano with a question in his eye. 

Caumanos eyes darken and there is something stoic on his face he hadn’t expected. There is too much anger in your eyes. A personal story? Still, he redraws into the shadows behind the door and Glorfindel walks over to the desk, taking a seat in the great chair behind it. At least he has taste in furniture. 

“I say we demolish his room before he comes back.” Caumano says quietly, arms crossed where he leans against the door. What the fuck? Are you enjoying destruction now? 

“As much as you like to cause a little chaos now and then, I never thought you’d revel in destruction.” Glorfindel says, frowning at him. 

“A little chaos then. Let’s misuse his desk.” he gets as an answer, there really is something you have forgotten to mention, is there? Something you’re very angry about. 

“Of course, right after you told me what you’re problem with him is, so that it’s at least worth it when he catches us.” Glorfindel shoots back at him, tilting his head. Caumanos eyes burn bright enough with anger that he sees everything on his face clear enough even in the dark. He huffs, a forcing of air out of his body, then looks to the side and stays quiet. Brood then, I don’t care. 

It doesn’t stay quiet for long though. Soon he hears shouts from downstairs before the doors get flung open and the one they’ve waited for finally appears. “You will pay for this!” Helcon hisses, eyes flitting over the desk for something to throw at him, probably.

  “That remains to be seen.” Glorfindel says dismissively, brushing down his blue velvet coat. “Either way,” he continues and pins Helcon down with his gaze, “ You may try to flee the city, but you’re surely smart enough to, at least in this, calculate the chances of your success.” They’re nonexistent, please, spare us both the trouble. “Or you hand yourself over to the guard outside this door.” 

“You’re bluffing!” Helcon fumes, his bright blue eyes alight with fury as he advances on Glorfindel who sits comfortably on the chair behind his desk, feet propped up on the table where minutes ago folders of plans laid that included quite a few names involved in the revolt, they’re already in Elenwes hands by now, nothing you could do about it . 

“Maybe,” Glorfindel tilts his head, watching Caumano step out of the shadow of the door through that Helcon just entered, letting the thick curtain of his straight golden hair fall over his shoulder in a show of carelessness, “Maybe I’m not.” Helcon comes to a stop before the desk, uncertainty creeping up his face. “But can you afford to be wrong?” he asks as he calmly takes his feet off the desk and stands up from the chair. 

“If I’m done for anyway, what should I hold back for?” Helcon replies and lunges, grabbing the long letter opener and throws it at Glorfindel. A hard noise of collision followed by another two as the letter opener pierces Glorfindels shoulder, making him fall against the wall, and the pommel of Caumanos knife meeting the back of Helcons head, making him drop, head against the desk before he crumbles on the floor. 

Glorfindel barely managed to hiss in pain as Caumano is at his side already and takes the letter opener out. It hurts even more and Glorfindel curls in on himself as Caumano presses something against his shoulder. “Couldn’t you have done that a second earlier?” Glorfindel presses through his teeth as he tries to concentrate on the melody of healing. 

“Just as much as you could be less of a bitch about this.” Caumano says, but it lacks his usual edge, none of that witty fun. 

“I hadn’t even started.” Glorfindel bites back and Caumano presses a little tighter against the wound. 

“Why didn’t you? I was already looking forward to be free of my duty as your guard.” he says and this time it does sound a little mean. 

“You’re already acting like it.” sounds just as mean and there's a short growl of frustration before Caumano lets go of him and stands up, grabbing Helcons feet and dragging him out, leaving Glorfindel to heal his wounds alone, sitting with his back to the wall, bleeding, in a steadily quiet room. 

An annoying, tight feeling pulls at his chest and he bares his teeth to the empty doorway. Really, you should have spared us both the trouble.

Chapter Text

“Laurefindele, come in.” Fingolfin says as Caumano opens the doors for him, letting him through before he draws them close and shuts himself out. You chose him to guard me and now you don’t trust him to hear what you say? Or is there someone on the halls you want kept away? Are you worried about spies in the palace? 

Fingolfin waits for him to come over to the grand table with the map of the land, the small wooden pieces standing slightly different then when he last saw it. “As you know, the gathering on Kôr, the summit, is soon approaching. It offers the great opportunity to take the agent of Narmoner that you discovered into the palace and have them on closer watch.”

Fingolfin opens and Glorfindel clasps his hands behind his back, listening. “The coming summit will be held by my father, though it will be hosted by Merenwes family.” The family that makes our wine. I see. How does that fit with Angulocien? “You will be placed within the lower levels of the palace in Kôr, make sure you are late to the event, make a scene about your gown and have your guard sent out to your additional luggage, it will seem as if the servants made mistakes with your wardrobe. While you draw the attention of the servants within the halls your guard will go into the basements and poison the wine. With silvergrass extract it will taste absolutely foul and will become undrinkable. When it’s served at the feast some guests will surely throw up, ruining the opening of the festivities. We will wait with toasting until you reemerge, in the best case the wine is already deemed undrinkable by then.” Fingolfin starts explaining the plan. 

“But wouldn’t that make it seem as if Merenwe was the culprit?” Glorfindel asks as he studies the plan before him, the grand place on Kôr, the festivities, the wine from Merenwe’s stock, served at the high table… 

“That is exactly the plan, Laurefindele.” Fingolfin says, nodding as he clasps his hands behind his back too, making his shoulders seem way broader and the embellishments on his sleeves catch the light of the flames. 

“But Merenwe has nothing to do with it.” Glorfindel frowns, “Isn’t she a friend of Elenwe?” 

“As it may be, Laurefindele, we have to think of the bigger picture. It might disgrace Merenwe for a while, but her home is on Kôr anyway and she won’t visit court, but it won’t interfere with her business too much. Removing Merenwe from the great court makes room to invite Angulocien to fill the place.” Fingolfin tells him.

“Which makes it easier to see who she is friendly with.” Glorfindel adds, earning another nod from Fingolfin, even as unease spreads in his chest. That’s logical and efficient… But Merenwe is kind and hasn’t done anything to deserve the shame that this plan will bring. And maybe… After everything is done, after Angulocien is removed from the court again, Merenwe can come back. It’s not permanent, it can’t be that bad if it can be undone, can it?  

“Earwens ships are waiting in the bay near Mantaroma, ready to carry the wine of Angulocien to Kôr as soon as gossip reaches them.” Fingolfin continues and Glorfindel looks at the map, the coloured wooden ships currently placed at Mantaroma. 

“What is the diversion to obscure the convenience of Her Highnesses ships in the haven?” He asks. 

“Nerwen took the ships there, Irisse will meet her with her riders and take her back, the ships will look as abandoned by a thoughtless princess.” Fingolfin explains to him. Anyone who knows Nerwen would know she’s never thoughtless, hopefully Irisse makes enough of a scene that it seems Nerwen couldn’t have stayed behind, and that Irisse more or less dragged her with her merry group. I just hope Tyelko is not there. Glorfindel frowns but nods, “Any rules on what I need to make the scene about?” He asks. 

“No, I’m sure you will find something. We will depart tomorrow at noon, be ready by then.” Fingolfin tells him before he dismisses him and Glorfindel carries the feeling of unease with him. Outside the door Caumano falls into step beside him, there’s a rigidness to your step that wasn’t there as we got here, what happened? 

He catches a glimpse of him reflected in the windows beside him, sees the tension Caumano holds in his shoulders and irritation rises within him, tone that down, would you? Your practically screaming frustration. Caumano does in fact, not tone it down, but grinds his teeth loudly as he opens the door to Glorfindels rooms for him, a move that has Glorfindels irritation surge and overtopple his curiosity on what happened while he was in the meeting. True to his stoic attitude Caumano stays beside the door, back straight and unmoving, perfectly useless, and Glorfindel leaves him there. Stew in your anger all you want, I don’t care. 

He doesn’t ask Caumano what’s bothering him, only tells him what needs to be done and then orders him to take care of the preparations for their departure. As soon as Caumano leaves the rooms and Glorfindel is sure he won’t be back for a while, he grabs his glaive and steps out of his rooms to the balcony and starts practicing his movements.

The grand court in Kôr is beautifully decorated as they arrive, thousands upon thousands of small lanterns, all filled with small glowing gems, are strung up above their heads, in between seemingly endless trains of fabric, a colorful sky of silk built above them, softly swaying in the wind. There are groups of musicians placed on the balconies surrounding the main court in front of the palace, flooding the air with soft harp and flute music, some voices joining in on the song. Tirion seems so cold in comparison to this, the colour, the closeness, it’s so much more vibrant and alive. In the middle of the court is a grand fireplace, it’s dancing flames letting the light flicker over the mosaic of the floor. The fire is held in a stone hewn bowl, looking old, and in comparison to the stonework he is used to, very simple. It’s been here for so very long, I wonder how much longer the stone can withstand the constant fire. Even the hardest of materials has to wear down one day, hasn’t it? 

Some bells chiming lets him look up and he catches the eye of a pretty elven woman on a balcony far above him, her amber eyes sparkling as she grins, waving at him. Oh, hello darling. He smiles back, watches her smile widen and another woman grasping her hand and cheer with excitement. Glorfindel smiles at her too before he looks back down, another determined chiming following him as they near the grand court.

Fingolfin and Elenwe who lead the train of riders from Tirion come to a stop beside the grand fire and as servants take the reins of their horses. He watches as they walk up to the fire and pull something out of their pockets, holding it close to their hearts before dropping it into the fire. One after another his cousins, and then him too, walk up to the fire and throw their prayers into the flames before they all walk up to the entrance of the palace, joining their family in the great hall. Finwe and Indis stand at the dias, radiant and surrounded by a humbling might that has all the hair on his arms standing up.

Something about Finwes might has the air around them denser, makes it harder to breathe, maybe that is why grandfather has the castle on Taniquetil so open and airy . 

The hall is far darker than the hall in Tirion, the stone here is brown and gray and painted even darker, reds and blues in murals long washed down. The ceiling isn’t as high, only a few torches on the walls bringing an unsteady light that seems so weak in comparison to the heaviness of the hall that was hew from the rock around them. He’s been to Kôr often enough to be familiar with the close halls, yet he feels strangely uncomfortable without hearing the wind against the walls, knowing how much rock is above him. On Taniquetil many rooms are hewn from the mountain, but all of them have open balconies, are high and leave much room for wind to rush through. In the halls of Kôr it’s quiet and dark, and as more and more people enter, it almost feels suffocating. 

He moves to the front of the hall, half a step behind Elenwe, who stands close to her husband. It’s not much space upon the dias, too many princes and princesses all crowding the space around the three thrones. 

Finwe rises from the one on the left, a dark red wooden chair, smooth with age and use, Indis rising from from the middle one, white stone with silver inlaid, Earwen rising from the one on the right, grey wood with plush blue fabric, clearly renewed over the years. Finwe steps forward, the only one of the three who originally held their seats here, and addresses the gathered crowd. 

Glorfindel spots a few familiar faces of those who would have stood with them on the dias, were it in Tirion and more space available, all of them hold a reverence that he too is far too familiar with. Even Caumano stands in the crowd, his grey eyes focused on the left side of the dias, face drawn into an ugly grimace, and Glorfindel thinks he already knows who he’s glaring at. Is that why you were so angry? You knew they would be here too; this can’t hardly be a surprise. Get a grip.  

The thought comes with a wave of irritation and he feels a touch from Elenwes mind against his own, Laure, calm down. Her voice is warm and gentle in his mind, yet the intrusion leaves him shaky, and he swallows the feeling down, projecting a short burst of acceptance, gratitude, apology, at her, before he tries to close himself off.  

Old as these halls are they thrumm with ancient power and history and the closeness to Finwe and all of his family must make it difficult for the quiet ones, and he tries to concentrate a little better on keeping his power close to himself as seemingly does the rest of his family. Finwe, Indis, and Earwen greet the crowd for the summit and welcome them in the halls of Kôr.

After the greeting the crowd disperses and the dias clears, all filtering into their rooms with their entourages. In passing he spots Ecthelion, pretty in his light grey silk and velvet, you’re spoiling him aunt, coming from a group of servants that belong to Quildolorwen, soft yellow dresses with embroidery of clouds on the shoulders and puffy sleeves, strange, they have nothing to do with Elenwe, what are you doing there? Has she sent you to listen in on them?

But then he follows the servant, Canno, a noldo clad in dark red velvet, who leads him to his rooms. As Fingolfin announced they were on the far end of the palace, in the lower levels, and they walk a few stairs down further into the mountain. The hallway is not in any way small or low, yet the air seems to get warmer with every step and he can’t help but wonder, what if this all crumbles? 

Canno opens a pair of grand, heavy wooden doors for them, letting him into a beautiful, if a little small, sitting room with wooden chairs, a few lit candles on the table, a red velvet sitting area, and two other doors, one on the far end, one on the left. Winyaro and Thurewen carry his bags through the door on the far end as Caumano stays half a step behind him. Not much space, dim light, no fireplace, a small chute for air at least. 

He throws a glance through the room and notices the small table with drinks, steps over to it and makes a show of displeasure over the wine placed there, and demands another sort from Canno, who apologizes immediately and turns to run to the wine cellar. “Caumano, go with him, you know which ones to get.” He dismissively shakes his hand, not even looking at his guard before he hears the doors close. 

Winyaro and Thurewen unpack his bags, he hears them rustling about in the main bedroom, and Glorfindel drops on the couch, letting his head drop back. This castle is surely convenient for safety, the walls far too thick to listen through them, no balconies anyone could hide under, but to know how much rock there is above us… I don’t know how grandfather ever could have -  

“Your highness?” Winyaro stands beside him, offering him a plush robe, right, bathtime. He stands up and Thurewen opens the door for him as he exits and Winyaro follows him to the grand underground bath. A winding staircase leads down, beyond it a great darkness. It’s the only place within the palace on Kôr that he truly likes, despite being located far deeper beneath the mountain, the great natural cave with all it’s stalactites and stalagmites and the glowing plants on the rocks, doesn’t feel like it’s underground at all. There are no candles within the cave, only the light from the small plants and the elves bathing within the giant pool, almost as if they would float through the everlasting darkness of the night sky. 

This must be closest to how they lived at the lake so many years ago. 

He walks over to the shore where he starts undressing, Thurewen taking his clothes before he steps into the water. It is warm, barely feels any different from the air on his skin, only that he feels much lighter now and he takes a deep breath before he dives down. It’s so very quiet underwater, not as oppressive as the stonehalls, but in a way that he feels held and cared for and safe, despite the depth of the lake, despite the darkness of the lake, he knows nothing will harm him here. He sees a faint shimmer of light on the bottom of the lake, dives deeper and deeper until he feels his heartbeat speed up and his breath go out and he has to turn, sees the forms of other bodies floating above him, kicks his feet in the water until he’s breaking through the surface with a gasp. 

He blinks the water away to find himself floating a good few meters away from the shore where another radiant form exits the water. He recognizes Elenwes light and her bright hair, illuminating the space around her and sending ripples of light through the water. Ilinon has a soft blue robes ready for her and helps her into it. 

Behind her he sees Ecthelion, are you dragging him everywhere with you, aunt? , head firmly and almost painfully far stretched to the side where another elven woman stands, also wrapped in a robe and with wet hair plastered to her head, Quildolorwen? What is she doing here? She hates these gatherings. She hates being at court at all, why would she choose to bathe here with everyone else? Is it… Her servants were talking to him before. Did she want him there? Or did he ask for her? Why would he? Is Quildolorwen seeking a better standing by befriending Elenwes musician? Or is this a personal endeavour? He studies Ecthelion for a moment, he is quite pretty with his dark hair and bright eyes… It could be that she-

“What are you glaring at, Laure?” A wave of water hits his face and he slaps at Angrod blindly, “I just suddenly had a really bad feeling, and there you are.” he says, and Angrod laughs as he ducks out of the way, throwing more water at him. 

A pair of blue eyes sparkling with mirth from below the surface before he shoots up and pushes Glorfindel under water. Oh no, not again. He kicks and twists out from underneath Angrod, who swims after him with a delighted laugh as Glorfindel swims away from him. A giddiness and rush makes his limbs tingle, and he pushes all his strength into swimming faster, away from Angrod who’s probably coming closer and closer and Glorfindel doesn’t dare look behind him, not when the coast is near and he’s almost made it, almost- 

A surprised cry sounds behind him and he does look back, sees Nerwen and Aredhel shoulder to shoulder- and Angrod below their hands, feet kicking and pushing at them, bubbles of air streaming out of his mouth as both grin down at him. Both their hair is plastered to their heads and shimmering bodies, eyes bright and joyful, and Nerwen glances over at him for a moment and winks at him, oh, thank you. 

Glorfindel grins back at her, sees both of them push Angrod down further before diving away, swimming in two different directions, and Angrod comes up spluttering, shouting, a small moment of indecisiveness before he dives after Aredhel. Glorfindel slowly swims backwards back to the shore, he’s closing in, all that swimming in Alqualonde gives him such an unfair advantage on us. 

Aredhel rounds on one group of stalagmites that protrude through the surface, that almost touch the stalactites that come from the top, and while Angrod is entirely focused on Aredhel in front of him, Glorfindel sees the blur of light between the spires, sees the form push itself forward, and he knows who it is long before he hears the mad cackling echo through the hall, followed by a “No!”. 

Oh no,  he thinks, knowing how careless Celegorm tends to be, followed by a small amount of smugness, he wouldn’t be there if he hadn’t started it. Celegorm jumps straight at Angrod, feet forward and he hears a strangled sound of pain as they crash through the surface. 

For a moment there is quiet in the whole cave, almost as if disbelief froze them, then elves around them fall into action. 

That sounded bad. Shit.  

“Hey!” Maedhros' voice is loud and full of authority as he emerges from behind another block of stalagmites swimming over, frustration clear in his voice, dragging a bright red train behind him, followed by a head with black and golden strands. 

In here, really?  

Celegorm comes up again and his eyes widen as he sees his brother and a few of his cousins swim over to him. Glorfindel frowns, please, just come up again, watches Celegorm swim away, but Angrod doesn’t resurface. 

Please.  

He hears a quiet “Morgoth be damned.” beside him as Elenwe rushes through the water, swimming over where Angrod disappeared. 

Valar… Glorfindel stays at the shore, worry growing with every second, and he is torn between staying away from this and wanting to help, but there are already so many, Itarisse, Kano, Elenwe- A few seconds later he sees Aredhels head break through the surface, Angrod held close to her, but his head hands down to his chest and he sees her struggle to keep him up. 

I hope he’s not too badly hurt. Not that he- Not that-  

Luckily Fingon reaches her and takes him from her, and together they drag him the short distance to the stalagmite where they hold him above water until Elenwe reaches him, Nerwen and Aegnor close by, all faces drawn in worry. 

Valar, please-  

A wave of power lights up the cave, and for the first time ever he sees just how wide and how high the cave is, stretching left and right for what surely must be miles, this is… almost frightening. It’s been like this for hundreds of years, thousands even… One of the Valar must have created this. Was this just a tiny puddle for them? 

And in the wake of the realization he feels very small, and then the light fades and he hears hushed voices from where Elenwe let’s go of Angrod, who slowly comes back to himself. 

Oh Eru, thank you. I almost thought he would- I don’t-  

With the accident the mood drops as does his feeling of safety in the cave, and Glorfindel turns to exit the water, valar, no, walks to Thurewen and wraps his robe around himself, and leaves. I’ve got other things to do.

Caumano waits on the couch, armor placed on the small table before him, only his stiff blue robe and pants on, feet propped up on the armrest. He glances up from the book in his hands, eyes grey and cold, not you too, just shut up, just leave me alone. 

Glorfindel ignores him on his way to his bedroom, yet feels his eyes follow him around until Thurewen closes the door behind them. Glorfindel sinks down into the chair at the dressing table and let’s Thurewen get to work, braiding and styling his hair. Thurewen leaves when he’s selecting his jewelry for the first grand dinner and Caumano enters the room, giving him a curt nod before closing the door. 

“We have a problem.” He says, having Glorfindel hesitate and put the small mirror back down on the dressing table, looking at him. 

“What kind of problem?” “The wine cellar was busy, there were servants everywhere. It was impossible to poison it.” Caumano tells him, crosses his arms in front of him. 

The feast is starting soon, they will have started moving out the first barrels by now. He feels dread drop his stomach, mind racing with possible plans. Make a scene now, block the staircase to the wine cellar, have Caumano hide there and poison the wine later. But if they already carried out every barrel they needed for the evening? They will party on through the night. How could they need more if- suddenly he sees Celegorm in his mind, his wild and reckless maneuvers, Valar, yes. He jumps over to his desk, quickly writing a note, folds it, and he knows Caumano will hate the next words. 

“I need you to find Turkafinwe.” As expected, theres a snarl on Caumanos face, “Fuck, no.” It’s the most disrespectful thing he’s ever heard him spit out, but it only makes him get up, rising to his full height and light seeping through his skin, power into his voice. 

“You will find Turkafinwe. And you will hand him this. Afterwards you will come to the wine cellar. At once.” The command is long and he sees, for the first time, genuine fear in Caumanos eyes as he realizes how he loses a battle of wills, the words settling in his mind and a last flicker of anger and betrayal before he nods, eyes grey and almost empty. 

Caumanot turns and leaves without another word and Glorfindel rips open his personal pouch, looking for the thin glass flask with the red powder. He calls for Winyaro, sends her to Aredhel to give her the tin of pigments, “Tell her she should keep her stuff to herself.” he says, knowing well Winyaro would never dare voice these words. But Irisse will know what it is for, she has to . Showtime it is. 

Glorfindel then takes his flask with liquor and takes a swig, makes sure some of it lingers on his skin, not too strong but noticeable from close distance, before he calls for his servants to dress him. He waits until Thurewen is back with his robe and Winyaro has opened the door to the hallway. 

“Not that one! I want the white one with the silver sleeves!” He says loudly, hears his own voice echo in the long hallway. “My apologies, your highness.” Thurewen bows and scuffles off, and he hears Thurewen search through his bags, increasingly distressed. “Why is this taking so long!” He calls out before Thurewen comes back and bows deeply, “My apologies, your highness, it seems the robe you’re asking for isn’t within the bags.” “It is not?” Glorfindel shouts, “How can you not pack my favourite robe! Go to the carriages, now! And pray you just forgot the bag!” His voice is loud and unkind and he hates how Thurewen flinches, I wish I could tell you what really is going on, but he can’t and he has to throw Thurewen out, watches him run out the door, almost colliding with Canno. 

The other servant bows deeply, “Is something the-” Glorfindel interrupts him harshly, “Out of the way,” he shoves him, rushes out of the door and into the hallway, ignoring the desperate pleading from Canno and Thurewen behind him, “I can’t believe that I’m surrounded by utterly useless idiots, how could you forget to pack my most important piece of garment into the wrong bag! If you managed to pack it at all! Unbelievable!” He makes sure to have his voice sound as far as possible, echoing loudly in the stone halls as he makes his way to the wine cellar, to the staircase that leads into the lower levels of the palace. 

“Your highness, please wait!” Canno calls out and attracts more servants, faces peaking out of doorways and he comes to a stop before the staircase, blocking it entirely. Continuing to snarl and hurl as many mean things at him as he manages until he sees Caumano slip through, quiet and inconspicuous, hiding as Glorfindel raises his arms and let’s the edges of his sleeves block much space, quick now, hurry, “Your highness, please, this is not the right staircase!” Canno tries, “Of course it is, don’t tell me where to go!” He shouts back, Valar, Caumano, hurry- 

“Laurefindele!” another voice cuts through the hallway, having all servants that crowded around him and himself look up, and he sees Merenwe, clad in blue silk of varying shades, all beautifully embroidered, her blond hair in thick braids over her shoulders. And even though he is technically above her in hierarchy, she is almost as old as Elenwe and the way she stares him down alone has him flailing. 

Shit-  

“What ruckus are you causing here? Aren’t you supposed to get ready for the banquet?” She says, coming closer and Glorfindel let’s his arms sink, “Unfortunately, I am lacking my favorite robe, as it seems my servants forgot to pack it.” He aims for snarl but even to himself he sounds like a petulant child.

 “Then let them retrieve something else. Someone like you surely has enough clothes.” Merenwe says flatly, utterly unimpressed by his arrogance, probably even seeing straight through him. 

She’s so old, she will notice this is a facade, will she? But then she’ll see this was a plan. And that’s even worse because she will know it’s my fault for having her standing ruined. Valar, this is not going well at all.  

“It is a very special robe, and I will not make an appearance without it!” He crosses his arms firmly, Merenwe though almost glares at him, “Laurefindele-” 

“Your highness!” Caumano slips through the hallway beside Merenwe, how did you get there? , coming to a hard stop in front of him. “Your highness, I retrieved the robe, it was in one of the larger chests from the carts.” Oh thank you. He drops his anger instantly. 

“If you would then, I believe your family will soon be waiting for you.” Merenwe says to him as if he was a young child, don’t talk down to me, you have no idea what’s going on. And with that frustration comes another, meaner thought, maybe it’s good that you won’t be around for a while. He glares at her as he passes her and then follows Caumano back to his room, Thurewen on his heels. 

There’s a strange woman waiting in his room with the robe in hand, hazel eyes, wait, I remember you, what are you doing here? Nondescript silk dress, high quality, pretty enough to be expensive but no sigils or definite ornaments, no noble, a servant? No, she’s too well dressed for that. 

He’s made it into his robe and half his jewelry, Caumano and his surprise helper, Terenie, adding more jewelry to his hair, when a small shake runs through the stone around them and a realization hits Glorfindel. 

Shit, Tyelko. So quickly? What else was he on? 

He throws an alarmed glance at Caumano who in turn glances at Terenie, valar, why does she have to be here, how inconvenient. 

“This is enough. Follow me.” He rises from his chair, sweeping through the hallways into the main throne room, finding the servants at the main entrance, outside, in the courtyard, chaos. 

Elves shouting and running around, trying to get away from the flames. The first thing that hit’s is the smell of burnt fabric, hair, alcohol ablaze, then a wave of smoke and heat rolls over to them. 

Shit.  

The main firebowl burns higher than he’s ever seen it, half the banquet tables near it are overturned, split barrels lay within the firebowl, trains of fabric above have caught fire, horses nearby are screaming, and there, at the other side of the courtyard; Celegorm climbing up the trellis beside what once must have been the wine depot. 

Well this sure is a mess. 

He’s almost pushed aside by fleeing elves and it’s Caumano who pulls him out of the way, close to him and the wall. 

“We should go.” he hisses against his head, fingers digging into his side, and an urgency in his voice that edges on fear. Where is- 

He spots Elenwe by the fire, the wind rips on his hair before her voice fills the air, a might that shakes him to the bones, that summons the winds around them and suddenly the humidity rises as the stars above are swallowed by dark clouds. 

By the valar. 

His own hand finds Caumanos, both frozen in face of the power that lays in her voice. A second voice rises above hers, deep and rumbling like the earth, the ground below them shaking, trees bending and the stone of the bowl cracking as Finwe rises, the air around him vibrating. And even though this is his family, helping and protecting them, a wave of cold fear hits him. He quickly realizes that whatever is going to happen in the courtyard is way out of his influence. 

All I can do is keep an eye on the unexpected variable in this plan. 

“Yes. We should.” He looks over at Terenie, whose eyes are wide with shock as she watches Celegorm climb up on one of the trails of fabric. Caumano goes around him, shields him from whatever is going to happen behind him. He grasps Terenies hand, pulls her with him into the entrance of the great hall, out of the way of the running elves, brings it up to his face. 

“Now that the drinking until morning is out of option, someone as pretty and quick as you surely knows a way to spend the time, yes?” he says lowly, pushing a wave of calm within the chaos around them, pressing a soft kiss to her fingers. 

Sleeves a little too long. The thread is bare at the ends. Fabric unevenly worn down. Old gown. An undergown from Merenwe? Did she steal it? A thief and a spy? Terenie blushes prettily, a shy smile on her face, how convenient that I already saw her on the street, but what does she want?  

“Your highness?” She asks, uncertainty in her voice but her hazel eyes wide and dark. Perfect. 

“Laurefindele, please, you saved my guard and my outfit for the night.” He says, “Though, if I may be so bold, I think it should be of little importance if there was any meaning to our meeting today.” It’s almost cute how bashful you are, but please, no need to play around. 

“I hadn’t- I wouldn’t dare ask-” She starts, clearly lying, “That’s why I offer, my dear.” He says decidedly but softly, drawing her closer by the hand, his other settling on her elbow, ghosting up her arm, a shiver, really? She bites her lip as she blushes further before she nods and there is a pretty grin on her face as she steps back, pulls on his hand, and Glorfindel follows her gladly and quickly back to his room. 

He spots Caumano on the stairs into the main hall and throws him a signal, almost misses the way his face darkens. 

Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. 

Keeping Terenie close turns out as the absolute opposite of a challenge, she’s easily quieted, or more precisely exactly the opposite, but definitely kept from talking or walking away to report to whomever brought her into the palace in an old gown. Almost worse, as he holds her close and kisses her, she looks at him in a way that seems far too close to feelings. 

Oh valar, I hope she’s just foolish and in love and nobody used her for this. 

Either way he’s not feeling guilty about inviting her to bed, and can’t bring himself to regret the whole ordeal, not when she’s so eager to be good and make everything last. He’s not sure how long it takes until she’s tired and he kisses her face with a quiet but power laced, “Sleep, darling.” and sees her eyes flutter shut, a soft humm escaping her lips as she curls in on the bed. 

This could have been sweet if you hadn’t come to me at such a terrible time. 

Glorfindel stands up and throws his robe on, walks over to the door, finds Caumano on the couch, feet propped up and arms over his face, on the table beside him a low candle. He looks over as Glorfindel closes the door behind him, a strange look in his eyes that he can’t pin down before it’s replaced with tiredness. 

“Irisse was here to bring you back your pigments. Elenwe put the fire out, everything worked out, the festivity is postponed until tomorrow.” There is also frustration beneath the tiredness and he’s sure Caumano swallows some words back down he thought about throwing at him, an ugly crease forming in between his dark brows. 

“Then stop frowning and get some rest, you look terrible.” He says, rising again. Caumano huffs, “We can’t all be dainty dams.” and something clicks. Jealous, are you truly jealous? 

“Fortunately,” Glorfindel throws him half a grin, “It would be quite dull, I do like my entertainment varying.” he tells him, as much assurance as he’s granting him. 

“Yes, so I’ve noticed.” Caumano simply answers and holds his stare as if he was expecting something, and to his surprise, Glorfindel feels something lock in his chest. A strange sensation that has his bones ache, faint, but enough to throw him off for a second as he stares back. Wait, no. I don’t have the nerve for this now. 

“Something at last. Think you can put the same attention to this room? Try to get a hold on Elenwe while you’re at it.” Glorfindel says then and turns around, gets back into the bedroom before he hears Caumanos answer. 

Terenie sleeps soundly in the middle of his bed, great. There is no particular urge to get back to her and fall asleep, not when it’s not clear to whom she belongs or how she got around in the palace. He looks around, finds her dress half under the bed, a bit rumpled, and takes it up. 

The silk really is quite old and often worn judged by the frayed edges, just good enough not to be noticed in passing. There was embroidery, some holes from where yarn was stitched into the fabric but it was removed. It’s impossible to make out what was embroidered there, so maybe she was gifted the dress for her service or she stole it. Perhaps one would not remove the embroidery from a gift… It must have been stolen then. But from whom? Merenwe would be an obvious choice, but it could have been any other noble in the city as well. He sighs a little, putting the dress on a hanger and into the wardrobe, no need to have it wrinkle, before he takes his journal out and sits in one of the armchairs, feet propped up on the side of the bed, and begins writing down his thoughts.

It’s been enough time for him to start doodling into his journal before Caumano carefully opens the door and looks into the room, something like relief passing over his face as he sees Glorfindel beside the bed, before he signs him that Elenwe is on her way. 

Elenwe? He tries to call out for her, pushing his senses and fea, and he finds a familiar bright light nearing. 

Laure? Your guard asked for me, are you well? Her warm voice sounds softly in his mind as her fea pushes back and a shiver runs down his back. 

Caught a spy. At least I think so, can you take a look? He thinks and conciously studies Terenies form, feeling a vague sense of alarm from Elenwe. 

Cover your ears. It’s an unexpected command and he almost questions it, but then a wave of tiredness comes over him and he faintly hears Elenwe humming from the other room before the door opens and Glorfindel pushes his hands tightly against his ears. It doesn’t keep all of Elenwes' song away as she floats into the room, kneels on the other side of the bed and takes Terenies head in her hands. It’s over in a few seconds, Elenwe’s face crunches in concentration and Glorfindel feels a little guilty that the newest of her memories might be something Elenwe didn’t want to see, but she’s good enough at this to know and how to avoid it, isn’t she? I had to do it, it was the safest way to keep her occupied. I already fucked up, this is the least I should have done to minimize the damage. 

Elenwe looks up at him and he wonders how loud some of his thoughts were. “She stole the dress from her sister who worked for Merenwe a century ago. She snuck in the palace on the servants corridors, there are new ones I hadn’t known about, searching for you. She seemed to have a crush since you smiled at her in the street. No danger.” Elenwe says quietly as she gets up, brushes her gown down. Glorfindel nods relieved, “Thank you.” he mumbles, putting his journal away. 

“Rest, Turcafinwe is asleep and the damage outside will be fixed by tomorrow. The plan was a bit more explosive than expected, but it got us the same result.” She adds and Glorfindel nods again, the confirmation easing his worries. 

“I will, thank you.” He says and shoots his aunt a smile before she leaves the room and him alone to the soft breathing of Terenie. He looks down at her, she who sleeps and is none the wiser of anything that happened around her, and for a second he wonders how easy it must be, to have none of these strings attached to you, to simply go and try to grasp what you yearn for. 

She doesn’t tell him anything, shares no secrets, and Glorfindel shakes his head, no sense in thinking about that. I’m not like them, and climbs back into the bed to get what was recommended; rest.

Caumano is quiet the next day, brings Terenie to the servants exit after Glorfindel gave her a little trinket as goodbye, then stands by the door as Glorfindel gets ready for the second banquet. The courtyard looks just as beautiful as the day before and music fills the air as he finally steps outside, Nerwen and Finrod coming over to greet him with hugs and joyful smiles, telling him of Celegorm being put to sleep and safely lying in his rooms, probably out of it for the next few days. 

What is up with Quildolorwen? He asks, letting his gaze wander over the crowd, but drifting back to where Ecthelion, flute in hand, chats with her and one of her servants. 

What do you mean, Laure? Elenwe looks down at him with a smile on her face, ever patient, and something about it strikes Glorfindel as odd. 

Why are you having Ecthelion listen in on her? Do we need to be careful? Is she planning something? 

Elenwe laughs and it sounds far too amused, so sudden and unexpected, Glorfindel steps away from her, breaking the contact and raising the walls around his mind. 

What is that supposed to mean? and an awful wave of humiliation flooding him as he feels so terribly stupid for asking and for misinterpreting where he was only trying to be of use. 

“Laure, no, I’m not making him do anything.” Elenwe eventually says, “He’s a musician, nothing more.” she grasps his hand, he’s got nothing to do with our plans, he really is just a musician, a talented one, but only that. Her voice sounds in his mind before she drops her hand again and looks up to the crowd in front of them, watches the elves of Kôr dance around the great bonfire, the sound of drums around them. 

Just a musician? I find it hard to believe, why would he mingle with someone like Quildolorwen then? She hates the court, she’s only here because she has to, why would she try to make friends at a place she wants to get away from- He watches their interaction as another thought strikes him. Is he trying to make friends? He remembers all too well how Ecthelion busied himself helping the servants, he hadn’t needed to do that. Why did he though, surely not out of the goodness of his heart, not at a place like this? Ecthelion must have said something, Quildolorwen laughs and smiles brightly, and then puts her hands on her chest, a genuine gesture of thankfulness. 

Surely not, or… He frowns, thinks desperately of an event that would contradict it, but finds nothing. He’s always been polite and kind and I’ve not even once heard something bad about him. Elenwe genuinely likes him? It makes absolutely no sense, why would someone without any ulterior motives want to be at court? 

He knows how most of the musicians in Tirion are more like hungry wolves fighting for attention, little care and lots of arrogance, and he just doesn’t fit in there with his kind eyes and pretty smile and his soft voice and- 

He stops, fuck. 

There is, without any doubt, something that lodged itself underneath his ribs. It’s small but bright and warm, and it’s terribly inconvenient. 

Oh no. 

He looks down on his chest as if he could maybe see it and pluck it out, but of course I can’t, damn, and looks back up at Ecthelion who laughs, making the thing flutter. 

Oh no.

Chapter Text

“Laurefindele, there you are!” Aredhel opens his doors without preamble, striding in, her colorful gown dragging behind her, silver stars gleaming in the dark braids of her hair.

She’s dressed up for once, is there a special occasion you’re not in riding clothes? Are you staying for a while?

She’s taken two steps into his rooms before she's spotted Caumano by the fireplace, “You! Leave us.” She commands him and the rising irritation in Glorfindels chest is only soothed by the way Caumano turns to him for confirmation.

He nods and Caumano bows so gracefully, his dark hair perfectly in place and shining in the firelight, before he turns and walks to the doors, closing them quietly behind him.

Aredhel walks up to him, taking in all his field of view.

“Itarisse, what an unexpected pleasure to have you visit, please, do come in.” He says with only a slight edge of irony.

Aredhel squints her eyes at him, disapproval clear, yet takes a seat on the couch all the same. “No need for pleasantries, I didn’t come to chat. I’ve found the flower of the pigment you gave me. I already dropped my notes with Elenwe.” She tells him, yet you came here to talk to me in person? What is it that makes you take time for me? You don’t care much for me, it must be something bad if you feel the need to do this. “The flower only grows near the southern borders, near the dark valley.” She continues.

The lands where the creatures live that the great hunter wants so desperately to keep you away from? Someone risked their life to get this flower? To make enough pigment to create many tubs of colors must take hundreds of flowers, if not thousands.

Aredhel looks at him as if she’s on the same train of thoughts and nods, “Yes, whoever gathered them must not only brought themselves in grave danger but also evaded Lord Aldarons hunters.” She continues. For a moment he is confused, aren’t his hunters always with him? “There are more than Tyelkormos group following him. Many maia in the form of wolves and other quick and fleet footed animals guard the area, even in his might he can’t see the border when he is away in the north.” Aredhel explains and Glorfindel nods at her. “It is difficult to discern which are animals and which are of his following, even I mistake them from time to time. Anyone not used to the wilds or his companions would not be able to. And sneaking to the border without being seen is a task that requires much skill and I do not know of anyone who could do it. Even Tyelkormo wouldn’t be able to, and he’s surprisingly skilled if he’s concentrating for once.”

So many eyes everywhere, who even has the talent to obscure themselves so wholly? It must be someone of great power, which means someone from the nobility. But every noble either rides with Itarisse or Tyelkormo. And there isn’t really a way to hone these skills without guidance, is there?  

“Still, it’s not impossible to get there. Is there any chance someone took it while the great Hunter was there?  Someone from the group?” He asks, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Aredhel shakes her head, some of the jewelry in her braids ringing as it collides. “No, I don’t think so. It is very poisonous and Lord Aldaron is very protective of those who venture so far south. We are always accompanied by at least as many of his companions as our company counts.”

“No chance then that someone picked it by accident.” Glorfindel says and Aredhel nods in agreement.

“No. Whoever got it must have planned to take it. Would have needed to take a special bag and gloves. It’s poisonous to the touch. And I think it’s not losing much of its potency when dried.”

“The paint is poisonous.” Glorfindel concludes and Aredhel nods.

“And everyone who comes in contact with the paint and paintings is in danger. Whoever orchestrated this made sure to have poison available in all the homes of the nobility in Tirion.” There is an underlying anger in her voice, her grey eyes cold. “Someone brought poison in my brother's room.” She adds, scrunching her nose as she bares her teeth.

“It was strange that one of his paintings had been so thoroughly smashed.” Glorfindel agrees, please stop that, you know I don’t like it when you look at me in anger, even if the anger isn’t directed at me.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever orchestrated this is responsible for your fall from the balcony too.” Aredhel nods, wait, what?

He blinks in surprise, the event long filed away and ignored.

She leans in a little as she continuous and suddenly he realizes, there it's less grey of fog but the grey of stars that she carries, “Elenwe told me you were playing lost in the mansion of some noble while Findekano chatted them up in the lounge, that someone pushed you and you were lucky to land on a bush, not to have fallen on the stone floor. Someone tried to kill you.”

He is entirely taken back by the vehemence of her words and the ire.

You care?

It brings much of his thoughts to a halt, you always cared about what’s yours. I hadn't thought you’d count me among that. Valar, I had been very ungrateful, have I not? He looks down to the hands that lay useless on his lap, unsure what to say. But his posture must have been telling enough, and Aredhel huffs, almost sounds annoyed.

“Just because you’re annoying and difficult doesn’t mean that you’re not family. You’re not that bad when you’re not acting like a total brat for once.” She says, but her mean words are betrayed by her eyes, the fondness he finds there confusing him even more.

I didn’t understand you at all it seems.

“The sentiment is definitely returned, dear cousin.” He rolls his eyes at her and when she boxes his knee, he laughs.

Valar, I really hadn’t thought you’d care.

Aredhel smiles at him even as her brows are drawn into a frown. “Be careful, yes? I’ll be gone for a while keeping watch in the hunters group for who has their allegiances lying apart from my father or Tyelkormo and drugs.”

“I’ll do my best. You do too, yes?” He says and longs so terribly to reach out, touch her hand or her arm, to get his sentiment across, but she’s already standing up. He folds his hands.

“See you soon, little cousin.” She says and with another two steps she is through the door and out of sigh.

But you do. You really do.

It’s a strange feeling, suddenly knowing he isn’t as alone as he first thought.

But it’s good. There is so much to do, so much to look out for. It’s good to know she’s looking out for me too. 

“What are you smiling for?” Caumano says as he steps up, falling on the couch beside him, sending a disapproving glance at the now closed door.

Glorfindel shakes his head. Nothing, nothing you would care about. “Come, I have to see Elenwe.” He says instead and picks himself up, walks over to his wardrobe to put something prettier on.

“What about that dinner you promised me after I ran around for days following your little flute player?” Caumano follows him to lean in the doorframe. “It was terribly boring, he only went to teach some little elfling to play the flute. I was very much looking forward for a good meal. Though you could convince me to have dessert only.” He says, voice dropping low and Glorfindel sees clearly how he eyes his half naked form through the mirror.

“Or you go take a drink instead, you look terribly thirsty.” Glorfindel says, unimpressed with the show Caumano makes out of stretching his neck, flexing his beautifully muscular shoulders and arms.

“What can I say? I’m just too hot.” Caumano grins at him and Glorfindel sighs.

“You know what I told you about thinking, right?” and turns back to him, which was clearly a mistake. When did you unbutton your whole robe? I took just one look in my wardrobe and you're practically naked?

“Even when it’s just about you?” Caumano answers and while his voice certainly does things to Glorfindel that he can’t help, the way Caumano looks at him makes him nervous.

That sounds terribly close to a confession, he thinks, unease rising in his chest. But you don’t mean that, do you?

Caumano stares at through his lashes, but you don’t mean that, do you now? He stares back, and for a moment, they’re quiet.

You can’t mean that. You know that’s not going to work, you know I’m- that there’s-

“Whatever.” Caumano rolls his eyes and closes the buttons of his robe again. “Need help with the jewelry?”

“No, I just wanted something that doesn’t show I laid around in my loungewear all day, the hair is fine. It is merely an informal visit, even if an important one. Turns out the pigment is poisonous.” He says and still, Caumano reaches into the wardrobe for him, taking out the coat and holding it out for him to slip in, then closes the fastenings at his wrist.

“The one in the paintings? I’ll dare Tyelkormo eat one next time I see him.” Caumano says without looking up and for a moment, Glorfindel snorts with laughter at the image of Tyelkormo, in all his endless competitiveness devouring painted flowers.

“Yes, and you’d be successful. But if you’re hurting Feanaros child we’re having a war and I despite it all, I’m not keen on seeing Elenwe having to kill him.”

“Still worth it.” Caumano whispers under his breath and Glorfindel shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Yes, probably.” He agrees half heartedly.

He would deserve it for the pain he brings everyone around him with his thoughtless actions. How he hurt Angarato, how he’s hurt you… though what he did to you was plain cruel, not just thoughtless. I want to make him hurt too, have him pay in some way, but it’s not possible. We have to think of the bigger picture, we can’t let our personal feelings be dragged into this.

“I do have another task for you though.” He says after a moment and Caumano makes a questioning noise. “Autinde, a painter I met shortly after I came to the court, she had something in her garden. I asked her, but she had lied. I think she might have plants in there nobody else has.”

“Is this about the pigment?” Caumano asks and Glorfindel nods slowly.

“Yes, I think so. She said she got the paint from her father, but I’m not sure anymore. You need to check her gardens. A red flower. Don’t touch it if you find it.”

I don’t want you to get hurt when I can’t be there to help you.

“Understood. Any suggestions on how to get into the garden?” Caumano asks and Glorfindel chuckles, eyeing him.

“I’m sure you find a way. I have full trust in your potential.”

“Now that I wouldn’t dare to disappoint.” Caumano laughs.

“I hadn’t thought you would. Accompany me to Elenwe, then take a walk, yes?” Glorfindel grabs a few golden rings and slips them on as Caumano skillfully ties a ribbon around his hair, binding it in his neck.

“Of course.” He smiles at him over his shoulder, and it feels as if this could still work, no matter what he wants. 

It’s weeks later that Elenwe calls him to her rooms. “Itame located a suspect. I want you to come with me to the manor near Valmar. I will have a conversation with him.” She tells him, and a day later he walks into said manor, Caumano and Alcarinion on their heels.

It’s so beautiful here, the gardens, the architecture, the murals… But it feels so very old. I hadn’t felt is as much when I was here last time, but maybe I had been too young and far too fascinated by your garden to really pay any attention to the house.

The house is empty save for the gardeners and the housekeeper that takes their luggage to their rooms as Alcarinion accompanies them down to the kitchen meanwhile Caumano waits in the front hall, making sure to wait behind the kitchen door, should their guest decide to leave early.

Elenwe sits down on one of the chairs near the pretty wooden kitchen table.

It’s bleached with age and light, I wonder how long you’ve had it.

Alcarinion pulls out a second one for their guest, Glorfindel opts to stand at the side, getting another perspective.

“His name is Hendunarnon. Irisses notes led me to him.” She says, a bit of dust dancing in the bright light that falls through the old kitchen window, dipping Elenwes shape into an ethereal glow.

And now you sent her to get him. I hope this goes well, if he’s the mad one from his followers…

Alcarinion leaves the room quietly, the door falling shut behind him. He nervously starts tapping with his foot, only noticing the sound when the door opens, the man coming in, flanked by Itame and Alcarinion.

Oh good they’re back!

He watches the man's eyes dart through the room, two exits, yes. One you have to get by Elenwe for, good luck with that. The other through Alcarinion and Itame, only to be decked by Caumano.

The man must have realized that he’s trapped too, judging by the way his grim face turns to Elenwe.

“Hendunarnon, please sit down.” Elenwe points to the chair in front of her, being dressed by her, he reassesses his chances to flee, still, he slowly walks over to the chair and sits down, staring at Elenwe.

You will never be able to intimidate her, that’s a foolish endeavor.

“Why am I here?” he demands to know, but he gets nothing but a polite smile from Elenwe.

“I just have some questions for you. You are one of the hunters of Tyelkormos group aren’t you?'' She says, so very politely, as if she’s just making smalltalk.

O h how he hates that, look at his face!

Hendunarnon crossed his arms over his chest, “If you only have some questions, as you say, why couldn't you have asked them in the palace then. This is quite a weird place for questions, don’t you think.” he almost spits back at her, and the only tell from Elenwe that she too is surprised by his rudeness is a blink of her eyelids.

Do you not understand who you’re facing? Or are you hoping to get hurt? He glances over at Elenwe, we can’t hurt him, right? If he’d tell anyone that you hurt him…

Both Alcarinion and Itame look at the hunter with offense, Alcarinion shifting, probably itching to slap him. Eru, what an asshat.

“You surely see many wondrous things and parts of Valinor few can claim to have seen while riding with Lord Aldaron.” Elenwe continues apropos nothing, to which he only shrugs,

“Perhaps.”

Yes, just do it, Alcarinion, I won’t see anything, won’t have heard of anything.

Elenwe takes the drawing of the flower she got from Irisse, the one Caumano searched for in Autindes garden.

“I’m assuming that you also have some skills in the field of botany. What can you tell me about this flower?” Elenwe continues, you see that too? The way he tenses? He knows something. But he tries to overplay it. If he was hired by someone… who could have such a hold over him?

"Why should I know, I’m a hunter and not a flower expert. All of this is ridiculous, I will go now and I suggest you ask your weird questions to someone else the next time.” The man gets back in his feet, but before he can turn wholly, he feels the air around dense with power as another layer in Elenwes voice takes hold of him.

“You will sit down this instant and don’t ever dare to speak with me like this again.” For a second he too feels as if he should just sit down, but he manages to keep his knees from folding. Wow. He glances over at Itame and Alcarinion, both letting their hands drop from their ears as the man sits back down. His eyes are blank and his voice lacks all the ire and spite he had just a few moments prior.

“Of course. Forgive me, your Highness.”. Elenwe leans back, hands folded in her lap, how is it to hold such power? How do you do this?

“ So I’m asking you again, what can you tell me about this flower?” Elenwe says, but the layer is missing from her voice.

Why not just make him tell you? Why not make him tell you who sent him, who he is so scared of? Could it be Feanaro himself? Or just Tyelko? No, if it was Tyelko none of the flowers would have landed in Autindes garden. There must be someone else at work, someone we haven’t discovered yet. He hesitates once again, why not just make him tell you? Glorfindel feels irritation surge up but he keeps his mouth shut while he watches Elenwe interrogate him.  

“I have seen such flowers once, near the southern borders.” The hunter admits at last, clear signs of unease in the way his eyes flicker back and forth. A strange kind of amusement bubbles in his chest, seeing one of Tyelkos idiots being humbled by Elenwes presence alone. In an attempt to cover up he draws himself up, crosses his arms again, that is not going to help you. Glorfindel watches with interest how the man digs his feets against the floor as Elenwe leans forward, laying her hands down on the table, and he glances over at Itame, catches her eye as she smiles, sly and a little proud.

“You didn’t just see these flowers, did you. You also took them back to Tirion with you and brought them to Helcon, isn’t that correct?” Elenwe asks him, no use in denying it. Even you should have heard of Helcon being imprisoned. Though it was more for hurting me than his other dealings. Which was a little- Glorfindel frowns. Wait. He did that, well knowing he was about to be captured, well knowing what sentences come with hurting royalty. And how secure the prison is. Is he hiding in there? Does Helcon know more and used the situation to keep himself safe from the one who ordered Hendunarnon to take the flower?

“We both know that you took the flowers, but who gave you the order to do it. I know that it wasn’t Helcon.” Elenwe raises her head, a clear show of power and dominance that Hendunarnon, even if unconsciously, submits to, raises his shoulders a little. Helcon must know who made him get the flower.  

“I..I don’t know. I have spoken with no one except Helcon. I found a note in my room one day, attached to a wine bottle, that was all. And I only brought Helcon one of the flowers, it was hard enough to get this one.” The hunter says, grinding his teeth.

Helcon was the connection, he took the flowers, gave them to someone who made them into paint, and some must have been in Autindes garden. The gardeners wouldn’t have known the flowers, it’s unlikely anyone knew of them. Her mother? Or her father? Nothing came from investigating them. They hold small social gatherings but Itame didn’t get any useful information, it’s always about woodworkings, frames, barrels…

The wine!

He looks up at Elenwe, what if it’s connected to the wine? The one Narmoner sent me? He is in this too, I saw barrels with the image of Autindes house in his wine cellar. What if he was the one who sent the bottle? Elenwe? Elenwe! He tries to shout for her, push his mind towards her, Ask him what wine it was! Ask him whether it was from Mantaroma!

He instantly receives a feeling of understanding and gratitude that makes pride in his chest bloom fiercely.

I will ask him, her voice sounds so soft and familiar in his mind, he smiles unintentionally.

“The wine you mentioned. Where did it come from, maybe a bottle from Mantaroma?” Elenwe asks him, showing no sign of what happened between them. You have such self control, it’s so impressive. The hunter looks somewhat confused, but answers easily enough.

“I think so, I didn’t look too closely at the label. But yes Mantaroma was written on it.”

Angulocien! Good that she’s at court now. But that only confirms that Narmoner is involved in it. Could he have been the one who asked for the flower? But he had a painting in his house too… Would he put something this poisonous in his vicinity? That sounds dangerous.

“Does the name Narmoner mean something to you?”

“Never heard of him.” Elenwes question is met with a flippant answer, he doesn’t seem like a person that should be involved into more delicate plans. No matter how Narmoner is involved in this, I wouldn’t trust this guy with any information either. Which gives us about nothing we didn’t know or think before.

“Can I leave now?”

“Of course and thank you for your time.” Elenwe smiles at him, still so very patient and kind, Hendunarnon looks terribly irritated by it. The chair scrapes over the floor as he stands up and turns, but just before he reaches the door Elenwe speaks up again. “Oh, Hendunarnon, you certainly understand that this was a confidential conversation and none of it will leak out.” to which he simply nods.

I don’t trust this, aunt Elenwe. He does seem like exactly the person to run and tell.

Still, Alcarinion opens the door for him and lets the hunter out to where Caumano already waits for him.

Glorfindel shakes his head, feeling as if they’d wasted more time and risked more than this mans information was worth.

“What an idiot.” He huffs quietly as he steps closer to Elenwe.

“But at least the conversation was not in vain.” She says opposing his previous thought.

“But worth it? I don’t think-” He starts and stops as a sudden yell comes from outside and Alcarinion rips open the door, speeds through. Glorfindel himself runs over, sees Caumano stand above Hendunarnon, fists balled and the hunter draws a knife, slashes at him.

Alcarinion manages to jump in, kick the arm away and the hunters knife goes sailing as he rolls with the movement, getting back on his feet and then draws a shortsword from below his coat.

Where did he get such a weapon?

He lashes out at Alcarinion and even Glorfindel spots the moment where Alcarinion falters, where his movement yerks around, his elbow crashing into Caumanos hand, both of them stumbling while the hunter turns and runs. Caumano is ready to sprint after him but Elenwes voice sounds deafening over the field.

“Stop right there, guard.” and Caumano freezes on the spot, head turning towards her.

He is one of Celegorms men, can you fault him for it?

Glorfindel feels a little irritated by Elenwes decision, but as he looks up to her he sees something on her face he hadn’t expected. She stares at Alcarinion and Glorfindel sees him nod, wonders whether Elenwe talks to him in his thoughts too.

“Your highness?” Caumano bows with an expression that says none of the respect he is expected to bring is due.

“A finwean strike.” Alcarinion says beside him and Elenwe doesn’t smile anymore.

“Yes. Someone is teaching the low nobles high weapon training.” She says.

Who would dare?

“What do you mean?” He asks, not having heard of a finwean strike before.

“It’s a sword technique that is only taught at the end of weapons training. You’re expected to learn it in a few years, Laure.” Elenwe turns to him. “You do remember how restricted the weapons training is, yes?” He nods and listens. “Someone broke that very important rule. Surely you understand who I think it is.”

Someone of Feanaros supporters.

“But there are few who know how to wield weapons, fewer who have them?” He ask.

“Small weapons are enough if the intent is taught. I will need to see Helcon to confirm my theses. Laure, I think you should be there too.” She says and Alcarinion grabs the scowling Caumano by the arm and drags him off while Glorfindel turns to get ready for travel.

The way to the prison is long.

High up in the mountain range, overlooking the vastness of the sea, Tirion itself barely more than a pretty bauble in the distance, Elenwe and Glorfindel pass many gates and guards.

Glorfindel, who’s never been up there, has never seen the cells, walks close to Elenwe, who was there when they were built almost 400 years ago.

I wonder what happened that they decided a prison was needed.

There was a smaller prison within Tirion and one within Kor, but they didn’t even closely measure up to the one they try to reach. A thin walkway on the side of the mountains weaving through watchtower after watchtower, guards with bows and arrows, their faces solid and void of emotion, are they even elves? He meets the eyes of one, so light blue they’re almost entirely white, no pupil but no light, and a cold shower runs down his back.

Get a grip.

He straightens his shoulders, trying not to show the unease he feels under their gaze, how it feels as if they were peeling back layer after layer of him just by looking, opening up to the bones and reading his every thought, laying him bare.

Concentrate. Don’t let them see.

He tries to pull himself closer together, concentrate himself and his fea on himself, and eventually the feeling lessens. With Elenwe striding along in front of him he simply follows her light and partly hides behind her height, feeling terribly young again.

Even the walls seem to be full of power, I wonder if that’s because the Valar raised them. He throws a glance down and up, they’re so high… How powerful is this Melkor if this is supposed to keep him away? Can he really control so many dark creatures on the other side of the sea? For a moment he thinks of his father and his scar, the wound that never healed. Why is it that this Melkor has a power against which the Valar can’t do anything? Why can’t they undo what he did? I hope he stays away forever.

Elenwe slows down and the walkway turns to a gate within the stone wall, a warden in front of it bowing to her and opening the door for them. The hallway behind is cold and empty, smooth stone leading downwards into a spiral staircase.

It’s so dark and quiet here.

Even the ever bright light of Elenwe seems dimmer encased by stone and can’t feel the familiar thrum of power that surrounds her, even as he walks barely a step behind her.

It’s as if these walls would swallow all light.

The strangely empty corridor ends into this spiral staircase, open in the middle and no railway to keep one from falling down into the darkness. On the outside wall are doors and plateaus in even intervals. Doors of thick iron bands bar no view from the room behind them, but the darkness swallows the light barely a step behind the bars.

Is it supposed to be like this?

It feels unnatural to him and the cold seeps through his clothes, realizing now why Elenwe opted for a thicker and more layered outfit.

That should have been a clue.

He tries to spy into the cells behind the bars, but he doesn’t see anything. Elenwe leads him to the seventh cell and stops there. He instantly looks for a lock, expects the sound of a key sliding into it, but there is none.

No lock? No key?

The arched door is framed with this iron, the bars wound like growing plants, into the stone arch housing it.

How is this supposed to open?

A cold wind drifts up from below, pulling on his hair and then, something growls.

What is this?

He reaches for Elenwes sleeves as blank horror fills him and he tries to summon his own light, fighting hard to make it illuminate anything at all.

“Calm, Laure. This is not real.” Elenwe takes his hand, and the moment their skin meets he feels the darkness recede and the hole before him is only that: a hole of stone, the middle of a staircase. What did I just hear? He thinks directed at Elenwe.

Don’t think about it, he  gets back and the urgency behind it has him flailing. W

hat is so horrible that you don’t want to tell me about? What is down there? The thoughts come quick as the sweat in his hands. Elenwe? Elenwe! He tries to shove the worry down as Elenwe squeezes his hand and nods, yes, not now. Focus, I know. I try. And he lets go of her hand again, receiving an encouraging smile. Thank you.

Elenwe turns away, laying her hands on the iron bands and then the air around her shimmers and sparks run through the iron as she says a single word.

Valarin?

He didn’t catch it, the word too strange and and too powerful for him to grasp, but Elenwe does it without any problem, and the iron bands bend for her, parting and leaving an opening for them to step through. The moment the iron opens the light that Elenwe emits falls further into the room, whatever held it back disappearing.

What made these doors? These bars?

He lays his hand on the iron, finding it still warm and strangely enough, feels alive. A faint pulse under the skin of his hand tingles, having him wondering how this iron could feel alive. He turns to the inner part of the cell, the darkness faded enough to see it’s nothing but a single bare room, long enough to lie down in both directions, but holding nothing, only a body. He looks far different than what he has in memory, his dark brown hair dull and without shine, cut so very short, they shorn his hair , his tan skin pale and gaunt, empty eyes staring at the smooth stone wall. Is he… he isn’t dead, is he?

He doesn’t move, but even as slouched as he sits, Glorfindel sees the long scar on his neck, and he knows Helcon couldn’t tell them anything even if he wanted to.

They severed his vocal chords because he attacked me. I hadn’t ever seen it… This scar… I don’t- The thought alone that someone has deliberately done that, plunged a knife in there and severed the one thing that made them what they are, the quendi, the speaking, has bile up his throat.

Valar.

It’s a sudden and terrible realization, how cruel it was to hurt someone so permanently, even if they deserved it.

Or maybe he didn’t. I’m not hurt permanently. I am fine. He shouldn’t look like that, should he? He looks so dead. He looks up to Elenwe who seems to feel way less worry than him.

She crouches down in front of him, the sound of her gown rustling so very loud in the quiet of the darkness. She reaches out to touch Helcons hand, you’re reading his mind now? Is it allowed because he can’t speak anymore? But he doesn’t look like he could resist either…

Right as she touches his skin she pulls her hand back abruptly, and for the first time ever, he sees her stumble, fall back over, landing on the ground, hands just catching her.

What?

He takes a fearful step back from the body, but he breathes, he’s not dead, is he? I think I saw him breathe. He turns to Elenwe who stares intently at the body of Helcon, one, two seconds, before she jumps to her feet, grabbing Glorfindel by the shoulder and almost manhandling him out of the cell, not letting go as she lays the other hand on the iron door and speaks another word. He doesn’t catch that one either, but he has no time to wonder about that as she drags him with her, up the stairs. It has such an urgency and force behind it, he doesn’t dare speak until they pass the last gates of the thin walkway.

“What is it Elenwe? What did you see?” He asks finally, and then she finally slows down, a weariness in her face that, for once, betrays her age as she looks back to him.

“Melkor. He’s touched him. He’s here somewhere.”

What?

“What? How?”

“I don’t know Laure. Your thought was logical, he was trying to hide away at the safest place available for our kind. But not safe from a more powerful being it seems.” She says, settling her mask back into place.

“But he couldn’t have worked for him, could he?” Glorfindel asks, “He must have been a middle man.”

Elenwe nods at him. “I agree. His boss though, they must be the person Melkor is using. Helcon was a loose end, silencing him in this way is nothing anyone I know could do. And nobody would think of doing it, my gifts are not public knowledge.”

Helcon is only two steps away from the most evil power the world has ever known? How are we supposed to stop this?

“But what does he even want here?” Glorfindel asks, a little helpless, already knowing the answer before Elenwe gives it to him.

“Death and destruction of everything the One has ever made.”

Chapter Text

The vanyar have, more than the noldor or the teleri, always loved singing. Much of his youngest years were spent with his parents, practicing, playing, and those endless hours when neither duty nor time was more than a concept, are his most precious memories. 

Elenwe had often visited, a tradition now turned around; while he lives in Tirion it’s him that comes to her gardens from time to time, mostly listening to her musician playing her composition, but sometimes, when his longing for home grows a little stronger, she sings with him. Not the songs of power she teaches him, or the exercises for nurturing and controlling his gift, but fun little dittys, songs that bring joy and make each other laugh, and he loves Elenwe all the more for it. 

They’re sitting on the curved terrace close to her sitting room, above them a roof of glass with glowing stones inlaid, adding another dozen stars to those of the dark skies above them. The terrace is only a few feet higher than the garden connected to it, both overlooking the eastern part of the city where thousands of lanterns illuminate the houses and the space inbetween, all the way down the side of the hill until it fades out into the dark landscape. In the distance beyond, a cluster of light halfway to Alqualonde; Ambarlindelë, the house of music.

“Are you bringing him to the grand festival?” Glorfindel asks her, his legs crossed and foot bouncing as he watches a gardener at the beet water a bush of roses, pushing down the strange feeling that always, always, comes up whenever he thinks or talks about him. 

“Of course I will.” Elenwe smiles over at him, something in her eyes he can’t quite place. “It’s a music festival after all and he’s a musician. Don’t you think he would greatly enjoy it?” 

He’ll be so ecstatic, you might even see him grin. 

He suppresses the strong need to sigh or roll his eyes, what did I expect, and merely manages a nod. “Surely, which musician doesn’t. Are you- Have you- The music you wrote, will you present it at the festival? Or let him present it?” Glorfindel asks, somehow feeling nervous about the prospect of it, picking at his nails. 

Elenwe nods, “Yes, I will let him play the music that I wrote. I've already given him the piece. It will be a good opportunity for him to show his talent to others.” This is quite a dare, a chance but what if- 

“What if they don’t like it?” He asks, looking away, back to the gardener. “Wouldn’t that reflect badly on him too?” Valar, this sounds like I care. He makes a show of huffing, “But maybe it doesn’t matter, it’s not like anyone would say anything, he belongs to you after all.” He continues, drifting off as if he’s voicing his own thoughts more than talking to her, hoping she doesn’t pin him down on it. 

He shortly glances back at her, and the way she eyes him clearly calls him out on his bullshit. Unfortunately, despite himself, he feels something far too familiar to heat crawl up his neck and he lets his head fall forward, his locks tumbling around his face. 

"I thought your confidence in my abilities was greater than that." He hears her say, a playful tone to her voice, almost baiting him to look up again, and of course he does. 

“I’m- I didn’t mean it like that.” He presses out, looking back down at his hands. 

Come on, I don’t care. I do not care. I don’t. 

“I don’t know why I even worry. The festival at Ambarlindele is the most peaceful one we have. Finally no politics.” He says quietly, hears a non-committal hum from Elenwe beside him, and he tries to cheer up a little against the heavy cold that collects on the bottom of his stomach. “Maybe we can sing together there?” He says, a bit of hopefulness obvious in the way he says it and looks up at Elenwe again who smiles down at him, you’re always so kind and patient. 

“Of course, Laure.” She says, reaching out and he reaches back, lets her squeeze his hand for a moment and a wave of affection brushes against his fea, settling his restless heart and dissolving the cold, leaving him happier when she draws her hand back. 

It’s going to be fine, right? It’s all going to be fine. 

The music from the many terraces of the city reaches them way before they enter it. On the left side, up the hill, thrones the great villa. A round courtyard surrounded by beautiful trees, a grand staircase leading up into the entrance hall, all grey stone, a statue of Maglor with his harp in the middle of it. Behind the main hall the main building is a collection of annexes, built up the hill, classrooms and rehearsal halls, and the newest: the grand orchestra hall. It’s the highest of the annexes, and it’s balconies are open to the seaside, so that even so far below, in the main courtyard, the music from within is audible. 

They make their way past Maglors statue, taller than even Elenwe was, extensive robes and a golden harp shimmering within his grey stone hands, into the entrance hall. It’s lavishly decorated, much polished, warm wood, in between many paintings of famous musicians, vanyar, noldor, and teleri alike. 

“My dear lady, welcome!” A voice greets them from the top of the grand staircase, and as he looks up he sees Maglor sweep down, long red velvet robes dragging behind him, hair loosely tucked behind his ears, a smile on his face, and his hands, adorned with far too many rings, almost drowning in gold, outstretched as he nears Elenwe. 

Elenwe smiles brightly at him and gives him her hands that he holds and bows dramatically above them, placing two loud kisses on them. “Makalaure,” Elenwe laughs, “It is good to see you well. How have you been? Quite some time you’ve spent here as I’ve heard?” 

“Oh who gave it away?” He draws back his hands and the movement has his hair swaying behind him, “Too late now anyway I fear, would you care for tea?” 

“Very much, thank you.” Elenwe draws her hands back and looks over her shoulder to him. 

“Laurefindele, welcome.” Maglor nods at him, a gesture he reciprocates. 

“Thank you, it’s beautiful here.” He says politely. 

“Would you join us for tea?” Maglor asks him too but Glorfindel shakes his head, “Thank you, but no, please enjoy your tea, I will be fine.” and gives him another polite smile before Maglor and Elenwe walk through the main hallway to one of the patios while he takes the staircase up to the left. 

He’s on his way to his rooms when he hears a voice through one of the open windows of the long corridor he’s walking down, “Her name is Isifinde.”, and he stops. Between him and the person somewhere below are several bushes and treetops, but he spots him, a head of bright golden hair, soft green robes and a harp in his arms, walking through the gardens, his companion hidden by the greenery. 

“She’s the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, so brilliant and kind, her smile is brighter than Laurelin even, and she brings me so much joy, there’s no day I don’t thank the valar and her that she’s chosen me out of everyone, and I wonder how I ever deserved this.”

Nandaro. Here? Is Isifinde here too? He almost leans out of the window to hear more, Nandaros voice growing fainter as he walks further and Glorfindel speeds up in the hallway, speeding over to the next window. 

“No, her family is wonderful. I’m from Valmar, but I moved to the castle on Taniquetil where the rest of her family lives, except her older brother, but he doesn’t seem to like me, they’re not on good terms since she told him we were to marry.” There’s a lot of regret in his voice and it sparks a painful burst of shame that has his chest burning. 

Of course I don’t. You’re the reason she left me alone with everything. She is my sister, I needed her. He glares down at him who walks on, none the wiser that Glorfindel had listened in, and Glorfindel turns to the stairs. 

He’s slamming the door to his room shut behind him, the vase on the small side table shaking dangerously, but just barely staying where it is, merely a few petals of the flowers it holds fall down, specks of white on the dark wooden floor. He looks down at them for a moment before he kicks them aside, walks over to the high windows and the balcony beyond. 

Soft music, the rippling of a harp fills the air, floating up to him and he almost wants to slam the damned windows shut when he sees that it’s Nandaro who’s sitting on one of the benches in the small rose garden. Beside him, Valar, again?, Ecthelion with his flute in hands, carefully listening to Nandaro plucking the strings. He can’t quite hear what they say, he’s much further up, but he sees Ecthelion stop him, play a bit on his flute, before Nandaro joins him. It takes a moment before he realizes he’s teaching him a song, and a moment longer to realize it’s one of Isifindes favorites, and he feels terribly foolish and humiliated by it at the same time. 

A lovesong! He’s teaching him a fucking love song! He’s teaching the man who my sister favored, the one who stole her away, a love song! How dare he! 

There is a moment he wants to rage, ugly, sour anger that bubbles up his throat yet comes out as tears that easily have his vision swimming. 

Why didn’t she care? What is so special about you that she just left me? Shouldn’t I be more important than any other? Shouldn’t she be on my side? 

It’s a mean thought, and he knows it, can’t help himself though when the feelings clogs his chest and he's sliding down the door frame, curling around his knees as the music takes up again. 

She hadn’t even asked. She just left. He wonders if Nandaro knows of it. Doesn’t seem to like me… I never met him. She never gave me the opportunity to like you. Not with how- 

It’s a shuddering breath bordering on a sob that makes its way out his throat as the image of Isifinde comes to his mind, how angry she looked all these years ago when she stormed out of his room. How he’s never got to see her again since then. 

I should have reached out to her. 

Despite the anger and the betrayal, he can’t deny that he misses her terribly. 

She brought me joy too, he thinks, she was my best friend. And then she replaced me. And you probably don’t know anything about it. 

“Oh Valar, I’ll never get this right!” He faintly hears Nandaro exclaim from below, “No, please, try again, you almost got it.” “Agh-” A frustrated cry from Nandaro interrupts Ecthelions words and for a moment they are quiet. 

Quiet enough that curiosity has Glorfindel pick himself up and look over the banister. 

Ecthelion has his hands on Nandaros sunken shoulders, his head hanging low and he talking to him. A moment later Nandaro looks up at him, a thankful smile on his face. “I only want to make her happy.” Nandaro says, sadness in his voice and a yearning that claws Glorfindels chest open. “You will, I’m sure.” He hears Ecthelion say, sounding so very kind and supportive, Glorfindel has to take a step away from the bannister, back to the door, anything to calm this inconvenient thing in his chest down. 

Fuck. 

Half of him wants to go inside and close the doors to the balcony to not hear a single other note from the love song both of them play down there, the other half wants nothing more than continue to stand at the banister, listen and look, to soak in all the love and affection that lays in their song, and so he ends up in the doorway, rooted to floor, looking outside and listening but watching the trees on the side of the hill swaying in the breeze. 

This really is getting annoying.

“Don’t you think I should know what to look out for when I’m supposed to protect you?”

 Caumano’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, full of barely controlled venom. All of it has the hair on his neck stand up and he stands a little straighter as he levels Caumano with his gaze. 

“Perhaps your tone for once.” he tells him flat, seeing as much as hearing Caumano grit his teeth, one of his dark braids slipping over his shoulder as he turns his head away for a moment. He then huffs, a sharp exhale, and with it he drops his arms and takes a step towards him.

“You’ve been watching him for months and don’t say a thing. I do my damn best to do everything you need me to, and you still don’t. Just- Fucking talk to me.” He presses out, slowly advancing further, war too much into his personal space, and Glorfindel sees out of the edge of his vision how he flexes his hands, before he finally, carefully, settles them on his arms. Warm and calloused, brushing against his skin. 

There is a strange kind of determination on his face that edges on desperation, no. Perhaps it’s defiance that has him raise his chin further, a dare that has him baring his neck, you could, but you won’t, never would, all your posing is, are empty threats, we both know it- 

And still , there, in the soft tilt of his head, the way he lowers his lashes as his eyes drop down to his mouth, this minuscule movement, just for a fraction of a moment, in there lies a confession. 

No. 

It’s his fingers against his throat like a dagger that have Caumanos eyes go wide, surprise, fear, and then, acceptance, but much louder, hunger. And slowly, he digs his thumb deeper into the soft flesh of his neck, his pulse beating quickly underneath the thin skin, as Caumano leans in and despite the dare or maybe because of it, closes the distance between them.

It’s not soft, no kindness, no joy, it’s just hunger that drives him, the need to feel something amidst all of this. Be it the bite of teeth on his lips, or the sharp nails scratching open as skin as clothing is hastily discarded. 

For a while, at least, the dissonance of his soul is drowned out by other noises that quickly turn hoarse, cries amidst the soft melodies of the musicians outside. And for the shortest moment, barely the span of a breath, he meets his eyes, stretches his neck further, inviting the sharp nails, and Glorfindel thinks he hates him a bit. 

Why do you want this? Why are you asking me for this? 

And somehow, and maybe it’s the worst of it, he wants to hurt him for making him feel like this. 

But I should have seen it coming after everything else, after you wanted to destroy the room, after you left me wounded. But that hurted you too, didn’t it? But you decided to do it. You wanted that, just like you wanted me to hurt you. Eru, I hate that you ask that of me. 

He feels a little more fractured when he wakes, alone, surrounded by the little light of Telperion that makes its way into his room through the half closed curtains. 

The quiet is deafening now, and for a moment he is caught by the look of his hands, the memory burned into the pale knuckles under his tan skin, into the aching muscle in his palm, under the short nails. 

He is unhappy. He thinks, remembering the way Caumanos face looked even caught up in pleasure, there are still lines beside his mouth, a dimness in his eyes that all his bravado can’t cover. But I am too. It’s no realization, he’s known this for long, just never cared to pay any attention to it. 

I think I wear it better. There hasn’t been anyone who addressed him about it, nobody asked, except him. He knows. He’s not sure what about Caumano made him so sure, maybe it’s just because he sees it in the mirror often enough. Losing his first love, I think it broke him in a way. It’s a cruel thing, loving, it’s so easy to get hurt by it. There are lines and imprints on his arms, those are easy to heal, but love? Love hurts different, it made him cruel too. 

He thinks of Isifinde and der Nandaro, who spoke so softly and gently of her, so full of affection, she deserves it, the happiness. And for a moment he misses her so fiercely, it hurts in his bones, draws forth his ribcage and makes it hard to breathe, she deserves the happiness. And with this, another thought enters his mind, what if I don’t? 

He shakes his head and dresses himself, the urgent need to find his sister growing with every second and and leaves his hair open and puts on the most comfortable robe before hurrying down the stairs. 

He’s been to Ambarlindele often enough to know his way around the settlement but hesitates, wondering where Isifinde would have rooms now that she is with Nandaro. He finds himself staring down a corridor and perhaps it’s an accident or fate, but then he sees a framed portrait of Maglor. 

It’s opulent and vibrant, his kind eyes staring down at him, perfectly accentuated with gold, his face framed with silky locks of black hair. The velvet red robe is beautifully shaded, and it’s the color that catches his eye. It’s the same vibrant red he saw on the flower portraits. This can’t hardly be a random gift. This was deliberately placed here and- he looks at the frame, at the skilfully carved branches that hold rubies and gold painted leaves. 

It’s just as opulent as the painting itself and so very clearly out of the hand of Autindes father. This is the boldest statement of alliance. I must tell Elenwe about it. 

He wonders what influence Maglor could possibly hold in the group and how this influence could be used for the support of his father. Ambarlindele is beloved by all. It sure helps his popularity among the commoners. It’s clever to bind the peoples hearts to him. Glorfindel grits his teeth at the thought that the festival of music and the academy could be used as such a plain tool to gain and foster support for Feanor via Maglor, who unlike his father hadn’t gained any opponents. He is far too admired and beloved for that. 

“Laure?” He turns towards the voice, seeing Isifinde in the open door to the terrace behind him, “What are you doing here?” She asks, eyes ablaze and mouth drawn in a thin line, their mothers temper shining through. His first instinct, to run to her and hug her and tell her how terribly he missed her is vanquished as he too shares that temper. 

“What? Am I not welcome here?” He sneers and crosses his arms. 

“Oh get off of your high horse. You’re no musician, what do you want here?” She mimics the gesture and squares her shoulders. 

“Well neither are you.” He says. 

“Well my husband is.” Isifinde lifts her chin, challenging him to say anything. He does. 

“And how is his placement in the hobby-musicians show?” It’s a mean lie, he too knows that Nandaro was in the orchestra of Valmar and played harp with Maia, he is far from unskilled or talentless. Perhaps that is what makes it worse, that he only aimes to hurt her, lashes out in his stupid need to be right and come out on top. Worst part was that he knows it and that he has no idea how to stop any of it. 

“Better than your place at home, which is nonexistent.” Isifinde shoots back, the light in her eyes flaring up and despite everything this hurts. The carefully hidden doubt creeps up and he knows he didn’t manage to keep it from showing when he sees tears well up in Isifindes eyes and she turns on her heel, fleeing. 

“No, wait!” He shouts after her while she tears another chunk from her heart but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t wait. Her platinum hair burns like a star's tail in the wake of her running and all he can do is look after her.

He’s sitting at a table on a terrace overlooking the grand court where Maglor sits at the feet of his statue, strumming his harp, a soft song filling the air, elves sitting around him, curled in on themselves, listening intently. The lanterns around them illuminate the court in a silver light that reflects brightly of the statue and the jewelry of the crowd. Footsteps beside him have him look up to see Finrod in his teal robe and chunky shell jewelry, his blue eyes shining with mirth as a bright grin pulls on his lips. 

“If that isn’t my dearest cousin, what has you brooding like this, Tulu?” he says in the unbearably cheery way only Finrod manages that makes it impossible to hate him. 

“Of course, please, take a seat, it is, absolutely and without any other plans, free.” Glorfindel says with a mocking gesture and Finrod laughs, sitting down and placing a hand over his heart. 

“Oh, that bad? Tulu, I heard you were in an awful mood but I hadn’t expected this scathing sarcasm!” Finrod simply smiles at him, not even the barest bit of malevolence in his voice or expression. He leans forward, propping his chin in his hands, his bright hair falling forward around him, and Glorfindel wants so desperately to be angry at him, but it just doesn’t work. Finrod brings with him the smell of the ocean, the calming lull of waves and it soothes the fires of anger, no matter how much he wants to stoke them. 

“Tulu.” Finrod says so very softly when Glorfindel glowered at him for a moment too long. 

The glowering turns into a frown and he huffs, crossing his arms as he sinks further into his chair. Finrod draws his eyebrows together, looking at him with so much compassion that Glorfindel has to look away, staring at Maglor at the courtyard. 

“Tulu.” Finrod repeats, gently, “Please, talk to me.” 

Out of everything he could have said, it’s those words that rub him wrong in the worst ways and he snaps at Finrod, “Why does everyone want to fucking talk all the time, can’t you just leave me alone?” Feeling absolutely terrible about it, a heaviness settling in his throat, choking him, as the memories of Caumano he’s just shoved away resurface, the anger and desperation with them. 

Finrod leans back, eyes wide with surprise and lets his hands drop into his lap. For a moment he looks at him, but he gets no anger from Finrod, his bright blue eyes just look sad and it feels far too much like pity. 

Glorfindel presses his jaw shut, burning eyes turning away from him, quietness between them. Maglors sweet song mocks him, and he glares at him too, trying to pull his mask back up. 

“I’ll just come back another time.” Finrod eventually says, gets up from his chair and Glorfindel hears his soft shoes on the stone floor, two, three steps, then he hesitates. A hand lands on his shoulder, a gentle squeeze that lingers even after Finrod pulled his hand back and left. 

The last day of the celebration is the day where all kinds of musicians present new songs that don’t fit into the other categories, naturally, the music Elenwe wrote, that Ecthelion plays on his flute, is presented on this day. Which leads to Glorfindel sitting on a chair on one of the terraces near the stage, having sent Caumano away, the second chair removed from the small table beside him, to disencourage unwanted visitors. 

The guilt about snapping at Finrod still lingers just as much as the guilt about hurting Caumano, I don’t want to think about it. I don’t. 

He watches performance after performance, all intriguingly strange sounds with many just as strange looking instruments

He’s no spy, Laure. Elenwes voice is clear in his mind, the memory of the summit loud enough. 

She’s right. You’re too kind. You shouldn’t be involved with any of it. 

He glances over at Caumano,  who's glowering at him from two terraces over, whose grey eyes are more grey and less silver each day.

It’s eating away at him, he’s trying to hide it, but- He doesn’t quite know how to describe it, but perhaps he was more polite in the beginning too, too polite for me to see in how many ways he is not kind, in how many ways he is hurt and hurting still. We're both lonely, but you aren’t. 

The inconvenient thing in his chest wants to rebel but it suffers greatly at the thought, to be shut away and disregarded until it dies out, the last spark faded into nothingness. 

I can’t do this, if anything I should want to see you happy. 

He balls his fists until his nails dig into the flesh of his palms, Nandaros I want her happy, rushing in his ears. 

I want to see you happy. Valar, damn them all, I really do. 

He raises his hands to his face as the realization sinks in, I can’t do anything about this as long as I’m involved in any of this. You don’t deserve to be dragged into it. 

Fuck. 

At the end of the performances there is always time for spontaneous volunteers to go on stage and the heavy knot of emotions in his chest became tight enough for him to jump up and stride forward. The elves around him looked at him in surprise and awe, Elenwe regarded him with suspicion. It wasn’t common for singers to come on stage, much less one of his standing. Still, there sat Isifinde in the crowd and he can’t talk to her, can’t tell her that he misses her without having to apologize. And he can’t do that. But he can sing and hope she knows what he means either way. 

So he walks up there and looks around and suppresses the awful pain in his chest as he catches first his sister's eye, then Nandaros, and later Ecthelions, before his gaze settles on Finrod who sits beside Fingon and looks at him with a gentle smile. 

He raises his voice and closes his eyes, sings of the height of Taniquetil and the longing of a spirit for the freedom of the sky. It’s an old ballad that summons the winds around them and small specks of light and he hears the “Aw” and “Oh” of the crowd. 

Singing songs of power wasn’t common either, but it is something he is good at and something that requires much of him. Hopefully enough that Isifinde forgives him for having been so cruel. 

As the song ends the soft winds and lights remain for a moment and as he looks around he sees a sad smile on his sister's face. He looks over at her and then at Finrod and bows shortly to both before exiting the stage. 

He barely makes it past the plaza before Isifinde stands before him, Nandaro at her side. “You haven’t changed at all.” She says before running over to hug him and he closes her arms around her, squeezing her tightly. 

“No, I still miss you daily.” He says so very quietly that he isn’t sure she hears it. But then she squeezes him back and he knows.

Chapter Text

Glorfindel rides up to Taniquetil with Caumano beside him, behind them trailing a group of guards and servants, carrying luggage and supplies and some gifts they’ll need for the wild hunt that will take place in a few days. Laurelin grows brighter as they reach the lower end of the road that leads up the mountain in many many levels, leads through the city and the palace that seem to grow high up from the side of the mountain, to almost disappear from view before the highest of palaces, Manwes throne on the peak of the mountain. 

The fields left and right are filled with the golden flowers Ingwe made the sign of his house, their sweet and heavy smell filling the air, opening wide in the light of Laurelin. Caumanos eyes are wide with wonder, He’s probably never been here, Glorfindel thinks and follows his gaze up the mountain side. 

The white stone terrasses and towers sprouting from the mountain are lit brightly with feanorian lanterns, making it seem like the stars themselves found a home between the towering, elegant buildings. 

Home. 

He leads his horse up the road, lanterns left and right, carried by stone statues of eldar in long, flowing robes, illuminate the way. The higher up they get the harsher the winds whip around their heads and Glorfindel feels lighter than he had in years, almost as if the wind itself lifted him up, wanting to carry him home. 

A high white arch overly decorated with golden flowers, all set with diamonds, spans over the first level of the city, that starts to glow with the now bright golden light from Laurelin, and Glorfindel sees Caumanos eyes wide with awe. 

This is where my people belong, you see it now, do you?  

And he looks over to the white-clothed Vanyar on the streets, all kinds of tan skinned and light-haired elves, golden jewelry and embroidery decorating them, but none of that comes even close to the soft glow that emanates from them, almost as if they too were made of wind and golden light. 

This is where I belong too, he thinks, melancholy heavy in his chest. 

Finding his sister and brother on the courtyard of the golden palace does little to ease that feeling, but Isifinde runs up to him, belly round and heavy and hugs him tightly. She too glows brightly, her amber eyes almost golden, “You’re finally back!” She exclaims and he picks her up, whirling her around, and she laughs, high and happy and so utterly carefree, Glorfindel holds her extra tight. 

This, this is worth it. 

He presses a kiss to her head as he sets her back down and Vansil, clad in his white and golden robes, adorned with metal like armor, hugs him too, and Glorfindel winces a little. 

When did you get so strong?  

Vansils face is thinner, more serious than he remembers, but his green eyes are just as bright. “It’s good to see you, brother.” Vansil says, smiling too. 

“It’s good to be back. You’re both looking well.” He says, then looks over their shoulder, spotting a dark blond vanyar with a slim golden circlet on his curly hair. “Nandaro.” He says, smiling wildly, reaching out for him.

Isifinde grins and motions for him to come closer, and Glorfindel takes the extra step and hugs his sister's husband too. 

Nandaro hesitates but pats his back and Glorfindel makes no effort to hide his joy, “It’s good to see you too, brother.” He says and sees the surprise in Nandaros eyes at the title. Glorfindel looks between him and Isifinde, “Congratulations you two. I am so very happy for you.” and maybe there's a little too much emotion in his voice when even Vansil looks so softly at him. Despite all the frustration about Isifinde abandoning him, the loneliness so far away from home and all the anger he's held on to during the endless meetings and social events, he can’t find it in him to feel any of it when both of his siblings are well and happy. 

I just wish I could have that too. 

Caumano follows him up to his rooms, quietly admiring the vast and beautiful architecture of the golden palace, the high arches and long curtains, always moving in the winds, the grand terraces that are so high up in the mountains, it’s easy to see the far lights of Tirion and even the small glimmer of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea in the distance. Brighter though is the light of the trees near Valmar. 

“We’ll spend the next four days here, you’ll get enough time to look around.” Glorfindel tells him when they finally reach his old rooms, trying to talk over the feeling of loss that comes up when he sees the long unused couches and bed, remembers the many hours he spent there, unbothered by the world and politics, never even thinking about any responsibility. 

For a moment it feels wrong to bring Caumano here, the one who personifies all his struggles and the conflict, to taint the memories of this room with his image, but then he looks down at his own hands and shakes his head. 

It was naive, thinking it would stay like that forever. Can’t change that now. Can’t go back to what it was. 

He sees Caumano put his bag down beside the couch, and he can’t deny that he’s there, in the middle of his home, his memories, and Glorfindel knows that he can’t forget it. 

No way to undo the past. 

He turns away and walks to his closet, finding so many of his golden and white robes and changing out of the clothes that are so deeply connected to Tirion, light-blue, silver embroidery, it feels like removing another rope from his hands and feet. The soft, almost translucent clothes don’t weigh him down, move with him and flow around him in a way that makes him feel vulnerable and free at the same time. It's a wonder to feel the winds of the mountains on his skin again. 

I hadn't noticed how much I had missed this. How terribly static Tirion is. 

With the winds rushing into the rooms comes a high melody of the skies from above, and Glorfindels heart soars with it. 

I never knew how free I was.

The days inbetween are over in a moment and yet feel like forever, hard to hold on to yet suffocating, old memories and everything he’s missed, yet littered with changes. 

Nandaro and Isifinde, happy and carefree and everything Glorfindel wants to be and everything he can’t be, Caumano at his side, tense and quiet, a constant reminder of what he faces, making it impossible to even pretend it’s like it once was. That everything is fine. 

The day of the hunt comes sooner than he wants it to and he finds himself in his dressing room with Caumano, handing him a few golden ribbons, adorned with golden flowers and diamonds to braid into his hair. 

“I thought the main goal was to hide one's identity?” Caumano asks, silver eyes full of suspicion, Glorfindel rolls his eyes. 

“Just don’t wear them afterwards if that’s a problem for you.” he says, opening the door for servants with clothing bags. They place them on the low chair in the middle of the room and excuse themselves. 

“Do you want me to do your hair or why are you sending them away? Because I’ll have you know, there are exactly two things my hands are good at when it comes to fine motor skills, and braiding is not one of them.” Caumano continues and Glorfindel ignores him, walks over to the clothing bags to take out the robes they commissioned for the hunt. He sees Caumano raise an eyebrow as Glorfindel hands him his. 

“There are easier ways to ask me to undress, you know?” he says and Glorfindel sighs, 

“You’d do it regardless of me asking or not.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you’re complaining though.” Caumano grins, and Glorfindel eyes him from head to toe before he meets his eye again.

“You do have your qualities.” he says, voice dropping lower. 

“It is my honor to serve and prove my worth whenever you wish, my prince.” Caumano says, starting to unbutton his shirt. 

“And timing is not one of them.” Glorfindel adds, making Caumanos swagger stop mid-walk. 

“Are we expected to be somewhere before the festivities?” He asks, eyes sharp. 

“I’m to accompany my grandfather, which means we’ll be expected to look our best and be as attentive as possible. My mother is constantly watching but I need to make sure the conflict hasn’t taken root here too.” Glorfindel answers, starting to undress, struggling with the lacing in his back. 

Caumano walks over without prompting and loosens the lacing. “Who are you suspecting? Surely not the quiet husband of your sister? Calling him brother seemed a little over the top though.” Caumano thinks out loud and Glorfindel shakes his head, letting Caumano help him out of the robe. 

Like you would ever understand what it means to me, seeing her this happy . 

“Alasner, one of the architects, has been in Tirion for a while and is now tasked with building some of the underground chambers of the palace. He could have the connection and he does have the possibilities to extend Feanaros influence here.” Glorfindel says, “His wife, Tyalre crafts harps, her instruments are very well known and admired at court, chances are high that she’s used as a connection to pass messages or extend influence.” 

“Wife? What a bummer, there goes plan A.” Caumano comments as he takes Glorfindels robe and puts it on a hanger, starts to undress himself. 

Glorfindel shoots him an unamused look, “She’ll be at the official part of the festivities. When I’m with my grandfather and parents during the ceremonies you’ll have to make nice with some of the musicians, get a feeling for how they think about Feanaro. He’ll duel my father during the tournament, enough of a reason to talk about him without seeming suspicious.”

“Permission to mingle?” Caumano raises an eyebrow. 

“Don’t get in over your head. You’re still required to follow me during the hunt.” Glorfindel glances at him, eyes his mostly uncovered form, “And you’ll better be in top condition.” 

Caumano laughs and bows almost mockingly, “I wouldn’t dare disappoint you.” he says and the bow speaks of duty, but the expression in his eyes is almost wicked, full of promises Glorfindel now can’t wait to take him up on.

Ingwe in his ceremonial armor looks not only ethereal but wild and dangerous in a way Glorfindel finds it easy to believe how he fought his way through the dark lands beyond the sea, how he made the endless walk and how the great hunter chose him to be the high king of their people. 

His presence is almost suffocating, power thrumming around him, singing of the ancient times, whispers of the first breath the eldar ever drew, and it’s difficult to not bow to that, no matter whether he’s crowned or not, especially when he raises his voice in a song of power, rattling his very bones. 

He leads their march, beside him Ingil and Elenwe and their siblings, carrying the banners of their house, followed by Glorfindel and his siblings and cousins, followed by the other descendants. 

It’s an exhilarating feeling, the chorus of their voices and the light of them carrying far into the valley below, the ground below them trembling, the flowers in the fields beside them growing wildly. The shape of their bodys blurred by the light they’re surrounded with, almost floating down the long way from the golden castle to the woods. 

There’s another trail of silver light from Tirion coming towards them, the same powerful voices in a song that resonates deep inside every single one of them, led by Finwe and Indis, followed by his children and their children, adding another layer to the song of the vanyar. 

The high voices of the skies and the winds, the light of the vanyar is joined by the deep and rich voices of the noldor, singing of the dark and the stars, the strength and the endurance, and soon the last of their kind joins in, the broad middle range connecting them, the song of the sea, the awakening and the water, the floating voices of the teleri join them, Olwe and Earwen leading their people surrounded by the soft blue of the ocean. 

The meet at the great fields to join the chorus as one and around them the trees grow further, the flowers bloom and the whole field is filled with light and music and power, Glorfindel feels shaken to the very core, still trembling long after he’s stopped singing and the three kings of their people meet in the middle. 

The whole field is decorated with lanterns and flower garlands, long tables forming half a circle, leaving the middle clear for the tournaments. In a few hours the most skilled of their people would face each other in the  tournament, the art of fighting and war only taught to the nobles, those closely related to the high kings that crossed the oceans. 

Glorfindel spots a few faces of lower nobles and some commoners that are in the entourage of other nobles and he wonders how it would be for them, how is it to be in the presence of all three high kings for the first time when it’s almost overwhelming even for me? 

His aunts and uncles look way more at ease, Anaire with her round belly sits comfortably beside Fingolfin barely a few meters away from Finwe and though she isn’t from any noble house she doesn’t seem to be too bothered by his power. 

But perhaps this is a skill one earns with age. 

The moment he’s sliding the mask over his face and he drops the outer robe, revealing the thin and small tunic of a vanyarin hunter, an old and familiar excitement fills his body. 

This is what it means to be free, he thinks, flexing his fingers and grinning over at Caumano who’s silver mask betrays nothing but a sharp smile, the tension in his body though tells him everything. 

Free to do whatever we want. Free from all responsibilities.  

It’s a wicked thought but one he’s carried with him for too long to not take the chance, to take without having to care about consequences. Too long has it been since he’s had time to really run, to lose himself in the rhythm of the forest, to feel the earth under his bare feet and the air on his skin, and he wonders how they could have ever been anything else, when the sound of drums and flutes summons them, hundreds of hunters, masked and wild. 

The hunt calls. 

He barely registers the others, some stand out, impossible to not recognize even when masked, Celegorm and his silver hair adorned with feathers, wearing more adornments than clothing, which is once again nothing, Maedhros, body too tall and hair too red, too close to Fingon with his golden ribbons, to be overlooked. 

The drums call them forth, through the rows of tables, away from the feast and into the wild and they pick up speed with the beating of the drums, ever quickening, making them run and he loses sight of Caumano in the thrill of it, sprints forward, feet digging into the soft soil, throwing himself over the foliage and into the darkness beyond.

The heavy smell of vanas flowers heightens all other senses, he hears Caumanos heartbeat before he sees the diamond-embellished ribbons in his dark hair, glittering in the light Glorfindel emanates. 

A wild kind of heat shoots up his spine and he jumps forward, silently, ducking low, as he approaches, watches his long, dark hair sway with the movement as he walks through the twilight of the forest, the simple white robe doing little to hide the strength in his limbs. 

I got you. Caught you, Glorfindel thinks as he makes the final jump, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around, pressing him up against the next tree. He hears a surprised noise as he whispers a short “Found you.” before swallowing the rest of it, hands rising up to cup his face, to hold him as he places a leg between his. 

Caumano, for all his endless flirtation, seems frozen for a second before his strong arms reach around Glorfindel, pulling him close. There’s no room for thoughts aside from how warm he is, how soft his lips are, how he tastes, and what beautiful noises he makes- 

Even that turns hazy in his head when Caumano licks inside his mouth and Glorfindel couldn’t keep the noise from escaping his throat even if he wanted to, nor stop himself from grinding against Caumanos leg, not when everything is so hot and every part of him screams touch me, hold me . 

The hands around his waist and on his butt dig into the thin fabric, pulling on it, when another set of hands sneaks around his chest, and another presses up behind him, another mouth laying soft kisses on his bare neck. 

Glorfindel, overwhelmed and dizzy, arches his back, baring his neck further as he breaks the kiss with Caumano, only to hear his voice from the one behind him. 

“Got bored without me?” He asks, voice low and rough, and Glorfindel turns further, only half realizing that not-Caumano drops his hands and pushes him to the side, away and into Caumanos arms, before sprinting away without another word. 

Confused he looks after him, seeing the ribbons he’s gifted Caumano in the fleeing noldos hair, but before he’s managed to form another coherent thought, Caumanos hands are on the back of his legs, pulling them around his hips, lifting him, and shortly after his back connects with the trunk of the tree, he hasn’t got any time to think at all.

Chapter Text

It's in the middle of the fading hours of Telperion that Glorfindel wakes from a small sound coming from the living room. His eyes are open instantly, alert, no tiredness remaining. 

He slides out of the sheets, throwing on the soft robe that he dropped on the chair beside his bed not too long ago. It's long and flowing around his bare legs as he crosses over to the doorway, sliding the door open to find Caumano on the couch, breathing hard, knife in his hands, wide eyes jumping to him. 

Again, Glorfindel thinks, his heart aching for Caumano and his nightmares. "Same as the others?" he asks quietly, finding his own voice raspy from sleep. 

Caumano exhales slowly and lowers the knife, back under the pillow. 

Why ever it gives him safety, it's not like he can slay his nightmares with it. 

Part of him longs to reach out and push so much light into him that there's no more space for what haunts. 

"It's getting repetitive. So much to choose from and I'm always getting the same." Caumano shakes his head, his loose hair falling around his face, casting deep shadows to his cheeks and eyes. 

"Try not to take that as an incentive to collect worse memories." Glorfindel says into the quiet, and Caumano huffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. 

"Careful, my prince, that almost sounds like you care." Caumanos voice is full of mockery and for a second his mouth is drawn into an ugly sneer. 

Give me your anger, anything but sadness. 

Glorfindel lowers his head, tension building up in his shoulders, bracing him for more venom. "Can't have you dysfunctioning, what good is a frightened guard? If anything I care about myself. You're no use if you're not alert." he says, watching Caumano roll his dark eyes. 

"You must be pretty tired if that's the best you can do." he shoots back, dark eyes focusing on Glorfindel, and he feels strangely pinned, his heart beat stumbling against his will. Glorfindel crosses his arms, leaning back against the column, holding his gaze, staring. "Care is reserved for friends." Glorfindel says after a while, looking at Caumano, watching him lean on his knees and lay his face in his hands with a tired sigh.

 "You're just not in the position to have friends," Caumano nods, "I'm not stupid, even I know that." 

Glorfindel rolls his head to the side, letting his long curls tumble over his shoulder, "No. And we don't need to be friends." he says, shifting as a familiar heat crawls up his spine. They've been dancing around this for long enough, only so much tension either of them could take. 

Caumano catches the shift in the mood, eyes trailing Glorfindel as he makes his way over to the couch. "Now you're offering pity? I might start thinking you have feelings after all." Caumano huffs, but leans back when Glorfindel places his knees beside his hip, sitting on his legs, thin robe opening around him, reminding him how little it covers. Something dark moves behind Caumanos eyes, a slim silver ring barely visible and the heavy thing in Glorfindels chest twists further, pulling on him in a way that makes him afraid to even glance at it. 

"Don't try. Thinking really isn't your strong suit." he says as he leans down, dropping the last vowels into Caumanos mouth. He swallows them gracefully, hands sneaking up Glorfindels legs as Glorfindel makes short work of the ties on Caumanos shirt. 

"Are you-" Caumano starts and Glorfindel kisses him insistently, cutting his words off, earning himself an almost pained moan. 

"Shut up." he whispers against his lips as Caumanos hands dig into his back. 

Caumano swallows, nods, and Glorfindel relieves him of his shirt. 

“I spoke to some of their house servants,” Caumano says later, “Autinde hasn’t been home much. If you’re not planning to pay her a surprise visit in the evening, you might not catch her.” 

“I might just. She is sweet and didn’t seem uninterested.” Glorfindel ponders as he browses through his wardrobe. 

“Wasn’t that years ago?” Caumano raises his eyebrow at him and for a moment Glorfindel looks back at him. 

“So?” He asks, turning into a pose, eyeing Caumano, like that changes anything. She might not like me, she’s probably still attracted to me. I know you are and it’s been twenty years. 

“Fair point.” Caumano amends, “I haven’t heard of her being involved otherwise either. I’ll go ask around then where she might be later on.” 

“Do that.” 

Glorfindel gets ready and spends half the day with his lessons with Elenwe, the other half in training with his glaive, and shortly before dinner Caumano returns. 

“She is to meet with a group of friends at a tavern in the lower city later. A rather mediocre place, so either you dress down or I’ll go.” 

Mediocre? Why would she even go there? She is not only middle nobility but also rather wealthy. It wouldn’t be difficult for her to invite all her friends to an expensive place. Or does the crowd she wants to meet with not fit in in more exclusive places? This could be an indicator that she is meeting with people that either her parents don’t approve of or with people that she doesn’t want anybody important to see her with. Yet it couldn’t have been too difficult for Caumano to find out… So she either isn’t well hidden or she isn’t hiding.

  “Would you care to elaborate?” Glorfindel asks as he removes his training shirt to wash the sand out of his hair and off of his body. 

“A place for commoners, you’ll be easy to pick out among them, this is no place you can go in unseen.” Caumano tells him, comes to a stop beside him, leaning against the side of his wardrobe. 

Why would it be a problem to be seen? Autinde is responsible for poison being in most of the most influential royals rooms and she must know what happens if she were to harm me in any way. Helcons imprisonment is no secret, though few will have seen how the prison looks. 

At the memory of Helcons lifeless body a slight shiver runs down his back, no, if she’s in on the plan she will do her very best to avoid ending up there or displeasing whoever leads this. He’s still suspecting Narmoner to have a leading position, yet none of the clues that surfaced so far have led to him other than that he’s friends with Angulocien. And there was nothing wrong with the wine so far. Perhaps we were wrong about him, he seemed so clever and shady, but he’s done nothing but being a little too flirty. 

“Then I will not go unseen. Ingoldo told me to unwind a while ago and I know he mingles with the commoners all the time.” Glorfindel says, walking over to his bath. Caumano follows him and begins to undo his braids as he himself sinks into the water, opaque plumes of sand coming off his skin and swimming in the tub. 

“But you’re not Ingoldo.” Caumano remarks. 

“How kind that you noticed.” Glorfindel rolls his eyes, “It’s a stretch, but it’s the only plan I have. I can’t send you in alone, you can’t solve this by beating others up.” 

“And I don’t want you to go in alone.” Caumano tells him and for a moment his hands linger on his shoulders. 

“I wasn’t going to. What other reason would I have than choosing this place other than my faithful guard showing me the pleasures of the simple folk?” Glorfindel tells him without missing a beat. 

“Perhaps faithful is not a word you should use if you want to seduce her, hm?” Caumano draws his hands up through his hair, nails scratching his skull and Glorfindel hums, the witty answer all but forgotten as his eyes fall closed and he sinks a little further into the bathwater. Caumano laughs and for once it doesn’t sound sad or bitter but genuinely amused. “Good, then be assured I’ll give it my best to show you the most common of the commoners' pleasures.” 

“The sound of absolute mediocrity, perfect.” Glorfindel answers absentmindedly, the heat of the bathwater and the wonderful massage on his skull, blunt nails scratching in circles, has him sighing contentedly. 

But no matter how much he’d like to remain, he has to get up and get ready quite soon. 

Caumano helps him with his hair and attire, a soft green shirt with little embroidery that goes down to the middle of his thighs, beige trousers, wide and long and flowing, a pair of soft shoes with ribbons to bind them. His hair he binds back with a simple loose braid. It is far from what he usually wears and Glorfindel frowns at Caumano, “Are you sure about this? No jewelry?” 

His guards sighs. “You’re lucky you’re persuasive enough to never have to blend in.” and hands him a few of the more simple rings he owns. It almost has him feel naked, but Caumano too dresses down, out of his stiff blue tunic into a simple grey shirt and high pants, looking like he just came back from training, and it’s only half as bad. 

They leave the palace through a sidegate, the guards throwing them bewildered glances, making their way to the outskirts of the city slowly wandering, stopping at shops every now and then. Glorfindel finds a few trinkets and pieces of jewelry he orders for himself to be brought to the palace in the following morning. 

The silver light is dim as they finally reach the place Caumano scouted, a simple inn with a wooden canopy overgrown with wine from pots beside the pillars, a few tables outside. 

Caumano goes in front and Glorfindel makes a show of seeming interested and pleasantly surprised by the ambience, knowing far too well that just about every guest at the inn will stare at him. Even dressed down he is far more radiant than any of the common noldor in the room, his long golden hair alone would be enough to spot him from miles away. Caumano in turn would be difficult to spot with a rough glance through the room. 

“This is similar to the place I used to go to, back at home after work with my friends.” Caumano tells him quietly as if they were in conversation about this for a while now. 

Glorfindel hums noncommittally, looking around him, and sure enough he finds Autinde at a small table with another woman, on the table between them a small candle and a plate with small candies. He can’t remember ever having seen her before but he spots the moment she pales as she recognizes him. 

Afraid? 

Glorfindel doesn’t give her even the barest bit of attention, he smiles at Autinde and walks up to her, leaving Caumano behind. “Lady Autinde! What a pleasure to meet you here!” He says, taking a seat at the table without asking. 

Autinde too has something in her eyes that looks like panic and she glances over at her companion, “Are you well? You’ve been missing from far too many functions over the last years, I had hoped to speak with you about painting.” 

Autinde puts up a terribly bad mask, a smile so fake that he finds it hard to play not seeing through. He waves Caumano over instead while she talks, “My apologies, Prince Laurefindele. I had other obligations that didn’t line up.” 

He looks at her as if in regret, “A circumstance that won’t last for too long hopefully? Or is there a problem?” he feigns worry. Ah yes, obligations. I sure hope they’re not the kind of obligation I think they are. It would be quite the waste were you involved in the whole debacle. Despite the signs indicating that she is he hopes that her involvement is more of an accident, she is despite it all a likable person and a great painter, and he does admire her talent. 

“No, your highness, apologies, there is no problem.” 

Oh, you’re a bad liar. Too bad. 

“Just a few personal and familial obligations. I will do my best to return to court as soon as possible.” 

He looks her over, the brownish gown looks simple yet the silk seems expensive and shimmer green as she shifts. Her hair is braided prettily, delicate twists forming a crown on the back of her head and golden thread interwoven that sets off her amber eyes quite beautifully. 

“What brings you here then? Looking for inspiration?” He asks and she hesitates before she nods, more lies.

  “Yes. The wine outside is quite pretty.” 

A good one though, it really is pretty and probably nice to paint. 

“Are you tired of flowers?” He asks her innocently and with a heavy layer of regret in his voice. 

Autinde can’t keep herself from glancing over at Caumano and she winces slightly, oh, now this really is a shame. It’s enough to know that Autinde knows what exactly the paintings were about and what the flowers were, surely she will have heard about the hunter that he punched after Elenwe interrogated him. 

And she knows I’m involved. 

He shifts again, the tip of his foot meeting Caumanos, tapping once, and he immediately turns to chat with Autindes companion. He doesn’t even listen to their words, but stares at Autinde. 

“Yes, a bit. It’s nice but I think I just needed something new.” She says, ending with a shrug. 

“Something new?” Glorfindel repeats, eyes on the fragile earrings that are mostly hidden by her hair, small red flowers? Really? Are you even trying to be subtle about this?  

“I-” She leans back a bit, feeling caught? Come on.

“And the drinks for the ladies.” The barkeeper sets down a set of cups in front of them, “Your highness, may I offer you a cup of wine as well?” already having the third of the four cups in his hand. 

Glorfindel nods at him, leaning back to make place for him to set it down, then looks back at Autinde. “Please, I’m curious, you've mastered the painting of flowers, what is your new muse?” He asks further, taking the cup in hand, it’s silver and polished, looking far more special than the simple bronze cup in front of Autinde. He takes a sip while he watches her looking to the side.

“Lately I’ve been quite fascinated by flames.” She says eventually, ducking her head a little as if shying away. Flames? What is that about? He thinks of the smithy and the fireplaces and it makes little sense for soft Autinde with her beautiful gardens to find pleasure in something that consumes wood. But a liking for destroying things is something she’d have in common with Helcon and Hedundarnon both. 

He sets his cup down, the wine is mild but sweet, even if a little less soft than what he’s used to. A pair of hunters comes in, drawing his attention for a moment, both worn but grinning brightly, their gain over their shoulders and walking right up to the barkeep. And they bring it here to sell? 

“It’s easy to draw flowers, they don’t move or even if, only very slowly. Flames are far more difficult, depending on what burns the color is different. The flames shift quickly, making it impossible to paint the impression of a moment but a sequence of moments, no flame will ever have looked like the ones I painted. It’s like I am inventing them, the light, the heat-” Autinde tries to explain and somehow it makes sense for him as he listens and drinks, and he follows her gaze to the candle on the table. 

It does shift and for a moment he thinks he knows exactly what she means, it’s alive in a way- something shakes the table and Glorfindel feels dizzy as he watches Caumanos head collide with the table, sliding off. 

He looks over at Autindes companion, the woman already out of her seat and running while Autinde gets up so very quickly, she blurs in his vision and suddenly he’s falling. 

The wine, the valar damned wine- 

is everything his mind supplies as he collides with the side of the table, a dull pain shooting through his head and he feels the same kind of nausea he felt when he fell from the wall. His ears start to ring and he has trouble to push himself up, bring his legs under himself, only to see the inn deserted, the doors closed and windows shut. 

He tries to hum a song of healing, push the poison from his system, but as he draws breath the air scratches in his throat and he coughs. He presses his sleeve over his mouth as he hears a rumbling from behind him. 

What is that? 

It sounds like a wolf, low and dangerous and he shifts, one hand clinging to the table as he tries to get back on his feet. Caumano still lies on the table, out cold. The back of the inn has a bar with a door in the wall behind it, no candles lit, the back of the room pitch black with smoke rising from behind the bar. 

Is there a wolf in there? Did it follow the hunters here? 

The door creaks and the growling gets louder, the door opening slightly and unevenly and- fur, dark fur, it’s a wolf, it really is a wolf! Fuck, I need to get Caumano out of here! 

He looks for something to defend himself with, grabbing the candle holder, the candle falling out and on the table. A dark shape emerges from the ever growing smoke and Glorfindel coughs again as his eyes start to tear and itch, gnarly and four legged, patchy tufts of fur and a black skull, a ravenous maw with teeth as long and sharp as his fingers, eyes dark yet glowing. 

Melkors beasts, it’s him, it’s him, it’s him! 

He summons as much light as he can, his hands illuminated by it and the light reflected in the silver of the candleholder, but the shadows don’t dissipate. They come closer, the beast comes closer, he bumps into the table behind him, Valar, please, what do I do, what do I do- 

The beast launches at him and he turns, pulls Caumano with him as he falls, crashing against the floor. The beast crashes into the table and as it stands up again, the smoke pluming behind it and following it, he takes a chair and swings it against the beast, only to miss and the chair and the table crash and break apart. It leaves him with a long stick and he holds it like a sword, either I kill it or it kills us. 

The beast shifts, its massive shoulders rolling as its giant paws with these long claws scratch along the floor. Glorfindel tries to pull all his might around him, either I kill it or it kills us, and with a loud shout he ducks and pierces the wood into the chest of the jumping beast. It’s so heavy, falling down on him and the wood in its chest pushes down against Glorfindel, no, no, not like this- 

The ground below him gives in and he sinks, feels his limbs encased as the stone closes around him and he desperately tries to push against the beast, but every bit of strength only pushes him further down, further into the stone and nothing to keep his head up, to keep him from suffocating, he shouts for help- 

A sharp pain against his cheek has his eyes open and the brightness burns even more than the slap and he reaches out, tries to get whatever hurt him away from him. A hand pushes him down and a voice above him says, “Stay down. You’re safe.” 

Tyelko? 

His head snaps around and he sees him half bowed above him, blond hair in a thick braid on his head, a bruise on his jaw and his blue eyes cold and calculating. 

What is he doing here where am I what happened- 

He sees beyond him an opulent room dipped in golden light and he recognizes the colorful decoration. 

Itarisse? 

Celegorm lets go of him and Glorfindel stays where he is, heart racing inside his chest, “Where is Caumano? What happened to the wolf?” he asks, only to hear a low huff and sees Huans snout come up beside his bed.

 “There was no wolf. Itarisse took your toy somewhere else.” he gets told as Celegorm leans back, crosses his arms. 

Do you never wear sleeves? And what are all these symbols even supposed to be? Glorfindel frowns at him, what do you mean there was no wolf? I saw it, I killed it, I- I fell through the floor. I didn’t fall through the floor. I didn’t suffocate. This doesn’t add up. 

“It’s a poison. Ancante. Gives you the shittiest nightmares.” Celegorm tells him and then actually grins, “How sweet that you’re afraid of wolves little Tulu.” and pats Huans head. 

The irritation and anger has him speechless and without thinking he kicks out at him, only to have his foot caught and be pulled down so swiftly and so far, he half slides off the divan bed and a hand grips his jaw, fingers digging into his cheek hard enough to hurt. 

Celegorm leans in, a terrible grin on his face and a dangerous light in his eyes. “You should be.” 

Without any doubt he believes him, pinned as he is, knowing far too well how dangerous he is, how easy it would be for him to take him out should he want to, and he’s volatile. Glorfindel nods and a moment later Celegorm lets go of him, lets him slide down the divan bed. 

Ancante. You know of it? 

He looks over to Celegorm who has Huans head between his hands, scratching his ears and making happy little noises at him while Huans tongue lolls with the movement of the scratching.

You suffered from it too? How else would you know about it, about the nightmares? 

For a moment he wonders what Celegorms nightmares could be about, what else if not wolves would hunt him down, but then Celegorm turns to him again and fixes him with his stare. 

“Why are you here?” he asks him, knowing far too well that there is little that Celegorm actually cares for and he isn’t among that. 

“Irisse asked me to stay until you wake.” He says and shrugs, “And that you are, so I’ll be off. Come, Huan.” and with that he sits up from his chair beside the bed, Huan trotting along, over to the door. He opens it but before he passes it he turns back to him, “Oh and if your toy tries to attack me again I’ll cut him open. Understood?” He says, not even a threat anymore but a promise and Glorfindel nods. That’s where the bruise came from? 

It doesn’t take long to find Caumano and Aredhel, they’re in the antechamber and while Caumano is still out cold, Aredhel tells Glorfindel about how she found him among the gas cloud, how Celegorm pulled them both out, how the city guards now have a searching order for Autinde. 

“There was another woman.” He tells her, “I haven’t paid much attention to her, but Caumano spoke to her.” 

Aredhels nods, “We’ll find her. It’s bad news that they have access to poisons like these. Wait until he wakes, Alcarinion is in the foyer. I got to go, there is a lead I have to follow.” She tells him, seeming more tired than usual and he wonders if she too had suffered from the gas. 

“I’ll be more careful, I promise.” He says and she squeezes his shoulder before she heads out, leaving him with Caumano. He sleeps soundly and more quiet than he has in a while. 

If he hit Tyelko then Itarisse must have kept them apart. Or he would look way worse. He takes his hand, when were you even awake? Or was it your memory making you leash out? Your nightmares? 

Caumano doesn’t give him any answer. And when he finally wakes, he doesn’t want to ask him anymore.

Chapter Text

“One of the gardeners smuggled Silvergrass into the palace, which in itself was barely a crime, yet a few other ingredients were found within their rooms. All parts to brew Ancante.” Elenwe says while he takes a cup of tea in her reading room. 

Ancante? He feels his stomach turn and immediately sets the cup back down. 

Elenwe regards him with sadness as she must feel his panic well up and the sickening feeling return that accompany the memory. “I am so very sorry you had to encounter it that way, Laure.” Elenwe says and reaches over to him to grasp his hand. 

Warmth spreads through him and he feels Elenwes mind in his own, washing the darkness away. “But it happened. And I have to be prepared to deal with it from now on.” Glorfindel says and Elenwe nods.

“Sadly, yes. I can not grant you the luxury to stay away from the more dangerous methods of spywork, not now that we know Melkor is at work, not now that we know they are ready to use such horrendous methods.” 

Dread has no chance to take a hold of him when frustration about his own inability to predict this, his own inability to do anything against it has him raging inside. “I want to know how to use it, Elenwe. I need to know what to look out for and how to use it. For our advantage. If they chose to take these measures, why shouldn’t we?” He talks himself into a rant and the sadness on Elenwes face transforms into another one as she lets go of his hand and leans back in her chair. 

“Yes, Laure. You understand, it needs to be done. And as much as I trust Itame and Alcarinion, some knowledge should stay exclusive to our line. I am appalled by the idea that someone of our line has given out these secrets, but it must have happened if it wasn’t invented by Melkor himself.” 

What makes you so sure it was someone of our line? Surely no one would have told these people freely, surely- No, what if they hadn’t told them freely? “Elenwe, what if someone was… Was forced to tell?” Glorfindel asks and Elenwe looks at him for a moment. 

She is hard to read on the best days, impossible most others, but he knows her well enough that she has been elsewhere with her thoughts, even if he doesn’t know where. He pushes the feeling down, doesn’t want her to feel the slightest doubt of her methods. “It could be, there certainly are methods and draughts to loosen someones tongue that do not rely on torture. Perhaps it would be wise for you to travel to Valmar a little more often to visit your other aunt, Autamë. My sister has long since studied the language of the valar and the potential of Yavannas creation. Ask her for the gilded song, she will explain to you in detail how to use potions to make others tell you the truth and many other secrets.” Elenwe says calmly and drops a bit of honey into her tea before stirring with the small silver spoon that clinks loudly in the quiet room. 

Aunt Autamë? She always seemed so soft spoken and kind, I never would have predicted her to know about any of this. The thought is followed by a small drop of bitterness, but I am misjudging far too often, I can’t rely on my image of others from before. I need to be more aware. 

“She is currently in Alqualonde and Kor for the summer, but in a few weeks you should be able to meet her. Until then, I would like you to listen around a little.” The exercise on perception is unsaid but obvious and he nods before he moves to take a sip from his cup. 

He stops just before he places it against his lips, smelling something far too flowery for the herbal tea. He looks down, sees a single white flower at the bottom of it. “What is this?” He asks Elenwe who smiles at him with pride, “Your exercise number one. Autamë may know more, but I do have a few things to teach you too. Now, listen carefully-”

He stays late and is back on his way to his own rooms to meet Caumano as his thoughts on the white flowers get disrupted by a loud noise. He hears the child's cry from the other side of the hallway and knowing there is exactly one child currently within the palace, he sprints. 

His soft shoes slide as he pushes himself forward, almost losing his grip as he slides around the corner, finding Argon cowering on the ground, back to the wall. “Arakano, sweetheart, what happened?” He sinks down on his knees and pulls him into his arms, immediately feels his tiny arms wind around his neck and he hugs him tighter. 

Argon clings to him with all his limbs, “A woman-” Argon says between the hiccups of his crying, “-a knife,” and “said she cut me open.” 

He looks down the corridor, the only way she could have taken or else he would have seen her. A woman with a knife? Footsteps behind him have him on his feet in seconds, half curled around Argon, his own dagger from inside his sleeve in his hand before he realizes that it’s Aredhel. It’s barely a second that she looks at him and assesses him, before he drops his dagger, lets it disappear before Argon can see it. 

“Look, sweetheart, it’s your sister.” He says gently, kissing Argons dark hair and sure enough the sobbing stops as he turns around, a loud “Itarisse!” and she can’t step closer soon enough for Argon to climb into her arms. 

“Go.” She says over Argons head, eyes dropping to the hand that held the dagger just seconds ago and Glorfindel nods, turns, sprints. Aredhels voice, the soft words she only ever uses with her brothers, quickly fading behind him. 

He catches the reflection of a dark haired woman in a window, sees her walking fast two corridors further down, half the inner courtyard with Elenwes gardens between them, making her way to the small rehearsal room that belongs to Elenwe and a terribly unhelpful part of his brain supplies who would be there to rehearse, Ektelion. 

It’s farfetched to think she would threaten Ecthelion, but she scared Argon, if she takes him hostage… He pushes on with all his power, in his mind already playing out all the ways she could hurt him, knowing he’s far too gentle and kind, wouldn’t see the blade until it's stuck in him- 

He slides around the last corner when he sees her beside Ecthelion who opens a door in the wall, one of the storage rooms.

  A musician's storage room? He thinks of Tyalre, she must have placed something there. Thankfully Ecthelion turns around and walks away, please, don’t look back, just go, and Glorfindel follows up until the last window before the storage room, quickly hiding behind one of the heavy curtains as he sees Ecthelion turn around and walk back. 

Please, leave, he wants to scream at him but fights to keep his racing heart down. 

“Ah I was about to search for you,” he hears the woman say,” I found everything that I need.”

I don’t think I know her voice… but I don’t remember much from that evening. 

“That’s good,” Ecthelion says, sounding surprisingly disbelieving,” I just wanted to tell you that the trumpets are in the other room down the hall… If you need them.” 

Stay away from her. Please, just go.

"Oh, oh yes indeed," she says eagerly," Please, show me where they are." 

And then he hears clicking and then steps and he glances around the curtain, watches her walk behind Ecthelion who leads her away from him. He quickly walks up and watches in fear as the woman reaches into her dress drawing a knife out, oh shit oh shit, no, don’t, don’t you dare! 

She is so focused on Ecthelion that she doesn’t notice him catching up with long strides, no, no, no, no-

She pulls her hand back just as Glorfindel reaches her and pulls on her hand, easily twisting the knife out of her hand, his own hand shooting forward to smash the butt of his dagger against the side of her head, I hope this hurts!  

She drops in an instant and he just barely manages to draw the knife behind his back. Ecthelion turns back around just as she hits the floor with a heavy thud. 

“She fainted.” He says quickly, crossing his hand with the knife behind his back. “Would you be so kind and help carry her to one of the healers, she is quite tall and heavy." he asks him before Ecthelion can come up with any question, stopping his surely confused train of thought, and he really doesn’t feel like lying to him about what transpired. 

Please, just do as I say. I know she’s probably heavy, but I do have a knife here I really can’t show you. 

Ecthelion, kind, helpful, reliable Ecthelion, picks her up with ease, proving his previous assumption wrong. “...or not, it seems.” he murmurs, tilting his head with wonder. 

You really are quite strong, I wonder if you would carry me just as easily. 

But he really has no time to dwell on it, to dream about what can’t be, not as long as there is danger around us. You almost got hurt just because you were around, if I had been a second too late… I don’t want to think about it. 

“Come, this way please.” He says and allows himself the small luxury of holding on to Ecthelions elbow, a touch small enough to be excused, great enough to ground him, and sufficient to keep Ecthelion from looking behind him where the dagger is. 

The way to the healers is long enough that he grows conscious of where he touches him and finally drops his hand when it’s clear that Ecthelion won’t fall behind. He misses it immediately, longs to make conversation, to make use of this small amount of time he has with him, even if they are in the process of getting rid of a spy. 

Nothing he ever needs to know about. 

Ecthelion lays her down in the healers room and Glorfindel drops the knife on a side table as nobody looks, as Ecthelion asks whether the woman would recover or if there was anything he could do to help. 

You’re so kind. You would try everything to help even if you knew she was about to hurt you, wouldn’t you? To be the sole focus of your kind heart… I envy everyone who ever had your attention like that. 

A sliver of jealousy sparks up and he guides Ecthelion out of the room, determined to hold his attention and keep it away from her. 

You’re still worried?  

He can’t stop himself from stepping up into his personal space and lay his hand on his arm, please relax, she isn’t worth your worries. 

He feels the turmoil under his skin clearly, Ecthelions feelings are loud and Glorfindel want’s nothing more than to slip under his skin and calm him. He makes sure to catch his eyes, marveling at the way they shine, “Don’t worry, everything is fine.” he says and pushes his own calm at him, sees how his breathing slows down and how the line of his mouth turns up a little. 

Reaching out with his own fea he’s absolutely sidetracked by the trace of his Ecthelions, a wonderful melody full of highs and wide sounds and it’s good that Ecthelion bows his head in that moment and does not catch him staring. 

I shouldn’t be doing this- 

He’s shocked about himself, about how easy it was, how well they fit together, how- 

“Thank you.” he says and there is no way he could not have smiled at that. 

Of course, he thinks and if only you knew, and he hates that he has to let go and lose contact, the beautiful melody he felt is nothing more than a faint impression that fades quickly. 

He throws him a last smile before he sends him back, making sure he is no longer in the hallway before he retrieves the knife and sends one of the healers to fetch Alcarinion and the guards. The woman is quickly carried off to the holding cells under the palace, Alcarinion flagged by Itame and Caumano scouting the palace for other traces, meanwhile Glorfindel is on his way to Elenwes working room to report.

The three come back later, Itame a list in hand, all of them grim faces. “What have you found?” Elenwe asks as Itame hands her the list. 

“Weapons. They were hidden in some of the older wine barrels. Had Arakano not played in there and found the old barrels, we never would have found out.” Itame says, “If this has been going on since Angulocien is in the palace then we have possibly at least a dozen barrels with weapons unaccounted for. They must have been distributed.” 

Valar, hundreds of weapons in the hands of commoners? 

Quiet falls over the room as they all seem to come to the same conclusion. “Thank you, Itame.” Elenwe says finally and gets up. “I need to talk to Nolofinwe and my husband. Alcarinion, go fetch everyone. Itame, the documents. Laure, take Caumano and take a break, then talk to the quartermaster. I need an inventory of the wine distributed and the wine bought.” 

Almost as if in a daze he gets up, hundreds of weapons. And we can’t get them back or we risk open conflict. He does as he’s told and pours days over the inventory lists of the last six years, calculations upon calculations, yet finding barely five barrels in difference, a sum that could easily have been drunken by the occasional private party that Fingon holds from time to time. 

They’ve hidden it well. Far too well. 

And its then that he wonders what else they must have missed so spectacularly.

“To summarize, I, or we, have no idea where the weapons went or how many there are.” Glorfindel ends his report to Elenwe who sits across from him, a teacup in her hand, a thoughtful expression on her face. 

“This is quite unfortunate.” She muses and Glorfindel frowns.

“This woman was half a second away from stabbing Ektelion!” He says loudly only to have Elenwe smile at him, sympathy and a bit of pity, don’t give me that, you know why I can’t bear that. 

“Oh Laure. I know.” She answers his thoughts that must have been quite loud once again. “I was merely thinking. I had this idea for a while now but hoped to be able to delay it further.” She says and puts the delicate teacup down. “Fist-fighting as a sport has gained a lot of popularity among the commoners. With the growing population in the nobility so does the amount of people with at least partial education in fighting. I do not think that this is a development that can be stopped. It would be wiser to provide rules rather than banning it outright. If there are weapons unaccounted for among our people, I think it is time to make sword fighting a sport available for more people. By licensing teachers we can more easily deduct who taught whom, all houses have slightly distinct styles and I have seen most of them.” She tells him calmly, and idiotically enough his first thought is to teach Ecthelion how to swing at the woman to defend himself. Elenwe reaches for him, squeezes his hand. “He is fine, thanks to you. Do not worry too much.” 

“He barely wasn’t.” He answers slowly, “Is it always like this? Are you too so afraid for Turukano?” 

“No, not quite. But Turukano is powerful on his own, I trust him to be well by himself.” She says with compassion as Glorfindel shakes his head. 

Focus first. 

“How do you want to do this?”

Chapter Text

Knowing Elenwes he should have been prepared for the sight that greets him when he enters the grand terrace of Fingolfins wing of the palace. The round terrace with the lowered middle, a patch of sand surrounded by beautiful stonework, surrounded by stairs, the far side leading down into the gardens, the near side a few steps higher, lined with columns between which curtains hang, most of them tied to the columns with colorful ribbons. Elenwe  wears a beautiful blue and golden gown, small sapphires adorning her radiant form, even with her back to him, all of her body language speaks of joy. 

Right in front of her though, illuminated by the soft golden glow from Elenwe and the silver lights of the lanterns, bringing his beautiful blue eyes to shine, is Ecthelion, in a dark blue tunic with light armor around the arms, shoulders, and chest, sparkling silver. 

Glorfindel keeps to the side, his eyes lingering on him for a moment, mesmerized by the way his lips move into a small grin, how wrinkles at the corner of his mouth speak of genuine excitement, and how soft his lips look when he closes them, smiling at Elenwe, complete attention on her. He feels pressure at his lower back and then Caumanos movement beside him, a glass coming into view and Caumano raises a dark eyebrow at him as he hands him the glass, filled with clear miruvor. 

"You looked thirsty, my prince." Caumano says barely above a whisper, words low and bowing his head, for anyone else but Glorfindel looking like submissive servitude. And saving him from staring is a service he definitely appreciates, gracing Caumano with a small nod, half considering making him pay for the comment later for a few seconds, but then Ecthelion moves away and Glorfindel has to go greet Elenwe. 

Caumano is obediently at his side, always only half a step away, standing tall and showing off his beautiful form in the light silver armor. 

He should have taken the silver ribbons for his hair, the blue offers little contrast. 

Elenwe smiles brightly at him, "Laure, welcome, thank you for coming, it is good to see you." she says and he places a soft kiss on her cheek. 

Caumano beside him bows low with a reverent "Your highness." rolling of his tongue. 

"Elenwe, thank you for the invitation. I am curious to see what your performers prepared." Glorfindel says conversationally and a twinkle flitters through Elenwes eyes. 

"I'm sure you will very much enjoy it. There is someone I would like to introduce you to." she says, looking over at the side of the terrace where a tall, strong looking noldo in light grey clothes and armor stands beside Enwiniel in a heavy dark grey velvet dress, her dark blonde hair pinned up by silver combs with white and green stones that complement her dark green eyes. 

"I see." he nods at her when he sees Enwiniel catch his gaze. "There are quite a few performers present." he says conversationally. 

How conveniently my guard blends in with all the performers. And what a convenient chance to see who's got more skills than they should. 

He gives Elenwe a small smile as he excuses himself to be greeted by other lower nobles, meeting their performers. 

He takes place at Elenwen's table while she greets other guests, when he sees Enwiniel walk over to him. 

Rare excitement, enjoying her new hobby? New jewelry, new combs, new dress. Trying to make an impression today? Right behind her, not beside, a follower, not a guard, lacking the tension, almost swaggering. A peasant that got lucky? He does look pretty enough. 

He extends his hand as she approaches and she bows low, forehead almost touching his hand in perfect form, and when she introduced her performer, Elemmakil, he offers him his hand as well and he too bows, lacking the grace that comes with a movement repeat a hundred times, his skin touching his fingers. 

A commoner and not properly educated in our ways. 

"I'm looking forward to the entertainment your new performer will provide. He looks very well equipped for how new he is, my compliment to your craftsmen." he says kindly and sees Enwiniel flinch slightly, a spark of insecurity flicker through her eyes. 

"Thank you, your highness, we're very proud of our peoples handiwork." she answers, "It is an honor to have it recognized by you." 

"In crafting your people have not disappointed, Enwiniel. Your combs are from your hand, I presume?" Glorfindel says. 

"Indeed, your highness." Enwiniel confirms. 

"They're well done. Are you currently working for Princes Elenwe?" He eyes the very pretty and delicate work. 

"No, your highness. I am working on a piece for my husband, our anniversary is soon." 

"My congratulations on that, Enwiniel. Send word when you're available for commissions, yes?" Glorfindel says and when the lady bowes again he dismisses her with a smile. 

He feels the strands of Caumanos dark hair against his shoulders before he speaks, "None obvious, nothing so far." he says quietly and Glorfindel taps twice against the surface of the table, an idle gesture for anyone who looks, and Caumano leans back, stands at the high end of Glorfindels chair. 

A few others come by to greet him and he's served several drinks, all the while Caumano watches silently at his back. A small group of musicians with drums enters to the side, taking place at the far end of the terrace, near the way to the garden, shortly before Elenwe announces the beginning and then walks over to the table, sitting down beside Glorfindel. 

The referee steps in and announces the proceedings, then claps. A first pair enters the sand, bows to the audience, their armor bearing the signs of their patrons, both well clothed and equipped, stainless swords held elegantly. 

Pretty enough to capture some attention in the audience. 

They start slowly, easy movements, almost as if they're testing each other and the ground, slow pace of the drums beating to the rhythm of their steps, rises with them as they move faster. 

Adequate form, a little sloppy at the end. 

The performance ends with a low swirl of one, sweeping the foot from below the other, and with an embellished yet impressive handling of the sword, it's poised over the fallen one's neck, and the referee declares the winner. 

Glorfindel shoots a look at Caumano, spots tense knuckles and unwavering attention to the movement of the performers. He makes a wave tap with his fingers and Caumano blows air through his nose, almost a huff. 

No, they're barely good enough to be here, no serious skill. 

Then Ecthelion enters and Glorfindel is glad that he's been careful about his posture before, finding himself almost leaning forward, attention captured by the way he moves in the silver armor, the way his eyes shine as he draws his sword, and how his hand closes around the handle. 

Valar, I should have never let Elenwe know. 

His gaze flickers over to her and there's a small knowing smile in the corner of his lips. 

You're the best and the worst. 

His opponent, the performer Enwiniel brought, radiates youth and excitement, a bright grin on his face, openly cocky. Glorfindel is focused on Ecthelions face, not missing the small flicker of displeasure on his face as he looks at the opponent. 

Interesting. 

The referee claps, they bow to the audience on the terrace too. 

Perfect form, Ecthelion, Glorfindel thinks appreciatively, then eyes the other one, taps thrice on the table. Caumano shifts behind him with a soft click of armor. 

No, I don't think this one's dangerous either, he thinks, finding it difficult to focus on the reaction of the audience when Ecthelion moves so smoothly and graceful, the drums accompanying his steps, and he swings the blade in an impressive sequence, his form and footwork speaking of extensive training and great talent. Glorfindel may keep himself from biting his lip or show any other outward signs, but that helps little when he's so painfully aware of the fluttering of his heart and the other things this display does to him, half wishing he would stop, half he wouldn't ever. 

Who would have thought you'd be such a talented musician and so talented at combat? It's almost shocking you're not from any noble house- 

there's a tap against his shoulder and he looks to the side, tearing his eyes away, finding Enwiniel pull a rather displeased face. He watches her for a moment, then looks back at the fight, seeing Ecthelion performing admirably, ending a sequence with a change of sides. In an exchange of looks the atmosphere shifts, and Glorfindel spots the challenge in Elemmakils face, the way he flexes his shoulders and grips his sword just a little tighter - and Ecthelion shifts too. 

Definitely interesting. 

Caumano behind him taps once and Glorfindel confirmes with a low hum. 

They run ahead of the drums rhythm, sequences following quicker and then it seems as if they lean more towards sparring than performing, the audience around them gasping in excitement, and Glorfindel is glad he's got too many expressions to file away to pay too much attention to Ecthelion. Right up until he sees Elemmakil aim for a strike he knows they shouldn't use. 

He looks at Elenwe whose eyes are wide with surprise, then back to the ring where Ecthelion blade collides loudly with Elemmakils. 

A Finwean Strike. That movement shouldn't have been taught to him. 

He practically feels the tension radiate from Caumano. 

He's parried it. He's actually got… a lot of strength. 

The thought hits Glorfindel unexpected and he needs a second before he can look at Enwiniel, who looks rather disappointing but also a bit confused. He puts his glass down and drags his finger over the rim and Caumano shifts behind him. 

Take a good look at him, he thinks, committing the features of Elemmakils grinning face to memory. Ecthelions shoulders scream of frustration almost as much as the glare on his face, as they return to slower, more practiced movements, you're handling this well enough, I wonder what you could have become, had you had proper training. 

It's not difficult to imagine Ecthelion in Caumanos place, armored and clothed in his signs and colors, following him, serving him- 

His thoughts almost derail, but then Ecthelion stumbles out of rhythm. 

"Once again your ideas show to be highly effective." Glorfindel says, voice low, but Elenwe hears him. 

"An unexpected outcome." she admits, "I would not have suspected him." 

Glorfindel makes a non committal noise, watches Ecthelion swing at Elemmakil, the sound of clashing weapons loud enough for many in the audience to make a unpleasant face or raise their hands to their ears in shock, and then Elemmakil drops his sword. 

A trick, how wicked. 

The tension on the terraces rises, audience holding their breath, as Ecthelion looks over at them, Glorfindels eyes flicker to Elenwes too, who has her eyebrows raised, feigning surprise. 

Or maybe she really is surprised. She's never even hinted at Ecthelion dancing out of line or having any kind of temper. 

The thoughts end abruptly with Elemmakil throwing himself at Ecthelion and Glorfindel is on the edge of his seat, hand raised in a sign for his guard, Caumano beside him, ready to intervene in a heartbeat. 

"Elenwe." Glorfindel stresses, the audience around them gasping in shock at the loud collision of armor. 

Elenwe stays still beside him. 

Ecthelion shoves at Elemmakil and gets him off, sloppy execution, bad form, flickers through Glorfindels mind as he sees how Elemmakil tumbles away, rolling, both of them getting their feet under them. 

Caumanos feet tap thrice against the leg of his chair and Glorfindel shakes his head, no, just peasants wrestling, he thinks as relief floods him, the referee finally intervening, a rustling beside him alarming him of Elenwe moving, standing up. 

"Laure, if you'd please." She says, voice carefully neutral, permission granted. 

"Caumano." Glorfindel says and rises, not needing to command him, knowing what he'll do when he gets to the ring. He's got quite a presence, Glorfindel watches both Elemmakil and Ecthelion take half a step back as Caumano enters, surely his face void of any expression, silver eyes hard and cold. 

"You may return to the princesses side." he hears Caumano tell Ecthelion before he looks at Elemmakil. "Follow me." Glorfindel exchanges a quick look with Elenwe before he turns to Enwiniel. 

She looks almost shocked, highly disappointed by her performer breaking the rules. 

She might have encouraged that, he thinks as he walks over to her, head high and shoulders straight, and he sees her flinch as she spots him, the others quieting as he passes. "Follow." he says, as he passes her and hears the rustling of fabric and the scraping of a chair as she falls in step behind him. He enters the grand room behind the terraces, walks to one of the smaller sitting rooms, two low chairs before a high window. He sits down on one of them, regarding Enwiniel, the tension in her jaw practically screaming unease and worry. 

"Close the door." he says, watching her take the command to the task with humiliation but without anger. 

She is scared. 

The door falls into the lock and Enwiniel turns, head bowed, waiting. And Glorfindel lets her wait, long enough to be uncomfortable, long enough for spite to rise, but it doesn't. 

"Tell me about your performer." Glorfindel says, folding his hands in his lap, not allowing Enwiniel to take the other seat. 

"He's a commoner, one of the construction workers of the fountain-builders." Enwiniel says, eyes on the ground in front of her. 

"That much is clear." Glorfindel says, just to antagonize her. She takes it. 

No, no reaction. 

"Forgive me, your highness, he has been promising in training, I had not expected him to disregard the rules like that." she adds. 

This sounds like genuine fear, Enwiniel. Quite a lot for you, don't you think? You do have the nasty habit of pushing boundaries here at court.

  "Of course you didn't." Glorfindel says, watching her mouth twitch, still submissive? You either worked hard on your mask or you're genuinely distressed. "Even you should understand how your performer's behavior reflects on you." he says, "and even you should understand how your behavior reflects on the princess. She is benevolent and forgiving of many missteps, but there are only so many one can make before the dance is ruined, and few are able to join a dance mid-step. It requires tact and talent, Enwiniel, a fine feeling for the music you're dancing too. An art not suited for those unable to follow the routine."

"I understand, your highness. I will not bring him again." she bows low, a tremble in her hands. 

"That remains to be decided. As I said, the princess is forgiving, if forgiveness is deserved. I'll leave it to you to earn it." Glorfindel says, raising his hand in a gesture for her to leave, and she does, as quickly as she can even. 

A minute later the door opens and Caumano steps in, closes it behind him. He steps over to Glorfindel and sits in the opposite chair. 

"It's not clear where he learned the move from. I got his name and I think I know where he lives. He seemed more boasting and reckless than calculating." Caumano says. "He was escorted to the gates. The princess continued the entertainment. Enwiniel is leaving too, I take it?" 

"She is. Keep to her performer, you'll need to find out who's taught him that swing." Glorfindel nods at Caumano. 

I had expected Elenwe to have Alcarinion have Ecthelion teach it, but Enwiniel should not be in possession of that knowledge. Someone of the higher ranks must be training common people in the art of war, not a movement from the commoners up. 

Glorfindel thinks about all the people who would possess the knowledge and position to share it, of those who got a motivation to share it, and he sighs, I really should make a list. 

"I think your favorite has potential, there was quite a bit of strength in him." Caumano adds unhelpfully. 

"No. Don't even think about it." Glorfindel cuts him off, glaring at him. We will not make him part of this. 

Caumano raises an eyebrow at him, and maybe his voice was colder and harsher than necessary or intended. 

Shut the fuck up. 

Caumano looks like he wants to say something and for a moment they stare at each other, then he exhales sharply and stands back up. 

Glorfindel rises from his seat, let's Caumano open the door for him and returns to the terrace and to his seat at Elenwes table. He sees two other performers in the ring, painfully careful in the execution of their movements, tension hanging over the audience. 

Elenwe smiles at him as he sits back down in his chair, almost managing to not look at Ecthelion who stands behind her, hands clasped behind his back and posture a little too straight to be comfortable, but their eyes meet for a moment and he can't keep the approving smile from his lips. He turns away quickly, looking at the performance, laying one hand in his lap, the other relaxed on the armrest of his chair. 

Caumano comes to a stop beside him, plucking a glass of miruvor from one of the servers and placing it in Glorfindels waiting hand.  

Fine, apology accepted. 

The following performances are all according to rules and no other makes any mistakes or dares to act out. 

It's pretty, they all clearly practiced a lot. But few of them show any real talent, few of them have any real strength. 

He spots many small mistakes, no bother for a show like this is, yet most likely fatal in a real fight. 

Ingwe had me practice that move for days, he thinks when one forgets to pull his foot back. Had there been any force behind the attack, he would have landed in the sand. He doesn't and remains standing. Glorfindel once again looks at Elenwe, maybe this hasn't been such a good idea. You opened the doors for a new sport that could easily get out of hand. Well need to restrict access to swords more harshly, discourage the use of them. 

He looks over to Enwiniels empty table, if more of them are as reckless as this Elemmakil, we might have a way bigger problem on our hands quite soon. 

The following performances are almost bland, yet this does little to ease his concerns, and he rises with Elenwe, who enters the ring after the last of the performances, listens to her announce the end of the show and invite them all to dinner in the hall behind them. The guests around them rise, their performers following them. 

Glorfindel sees Caumanos distaste about the lack of formation in a small downturn of his lips. They're only actors, he thinks, as of yet, another voice in his head answers. Glorfindel turns around and sees Ecthelion stand behind the chair, his eyes on Elenwe but his fingers grasping his hands tighter, seemingly nervous without guidance. 

"Come. The table for the performers is in the hall as well." he finds himself saying, glancing at Ecthelion, turning away the moment he's sure he heard him. Caumano turns with him, always right behind him, and he hears the clatter of armor, always the thoughtful guard and guide, he thinks, walking over to the grand glass doors that open before him, servants at the ready. 

The hall is richly decorated as always when Elenwe hosts a party. The table is already set with food and he walks over to his place beside Elenwes chair. Not too far from the main table is another one, slightly less opulent but still beautifully decorated, a statement of appreciation of Elenwe to the performers. 

Neither Enwiniel nor her performer return for dinner, leaving one chair empty on both tables. Caumano pulls out his chair and then stands behind him, only bowing when the Princess passes him. The following dinner is just as bland, none of the attending nobles give any indication as to what he's searching for, and he's partly glad for it, partly terribly bored, partly annoyed because Ecthelion is placed directly in his line of sight whenever he looks down the table, and he's looking down the table a lot with all the other guests being seated there. 

Elenwe is alight with joy and the guests all look at her with something in their eyes, he'd almost call reverence. When he's finally rising to leave he places a soft kiss on Elenwes cheek and thanks her for the beautiful party, then leaves, Caumano on his heels.

"It's a troubling to think that someone is teaching the commoners sword fighting. Apart from the tournaments." are the first words out of Caumanos mouth when he closes the door to Glorfindels personal rooms behind him, "And I wish that was an innuendo.". 

"I find it hard to believe someone would start a violent conflict here." Glorfindel muses, "I can't rule it out, but now matter how… Careless Narmoner and his people are, I can't believe the Valar would permit this in their land." 

Caumano throws him a questioning glance. "Not on a big scale. Weapons of this capacity for everyone? How are we to enforce order if not through more weapons? When would anyone stop?" Glorfindel frowns as he continues. 

"The small scale matters too." Caumano says, sounding irritated. 

"The small scale won't cause a political uproar. There's only so much distrust a ruler can handle. Caumano, we've been over this. Don't." Glorfindel sighs agitated. 

"But the small scale hurts- Isn't right either. How much is acceptable? How many until it's a problem for you? They're all people, they all get hurt!" Caumano practically rips off his weapons and throws them on the couch as he paces the room. 

"Of course it isn't right! But that's the price, we can't just undo the invention of swords, don’t try to be more daft than you already are!" Glorfindel throws back at him. 

Caumano stops, fists at his side. "The pain of your people is acceptable for you, your highness?" Caumanos voice is strangely cold and Glorfindel feels irritation rising, boiling hot in his chest, a dangerous flicker whipping through the room. 

"Nobody's pain is acceptable, Guard." He presses, "Some things are merely beyond my, and definitely beyond your control. Do not overestimate yourself, I may grant you free speech, but I will not accept this outright disobedience. Am I understood?" he continues, laying power in his words and he sees Caumano fight against the compulsion, but ultimately lose, and the tension in his back slowly dissipates and Caumano nods, teeth gritted, but nods. 

"Understood, your highness." 

"Very well. Then leave, you have your task. Report back to me tomorrow." Glorfindel dismisses him, barely resisting the urge to throw something at the closing door, the quiet of his chambers almost worse than Caumanos anger.

Especially when it leaves him with the knowledge that he once again used his powers in a way he shouldn’t.

Elenwe would be ashamed if she knew.

Glorfindel sits in front of his grand mirror in his dressing room, a servant finishing the styling of his hair, when Caumano enters, without armor, crisp robes, stiff blue fabric over white silk, golden flowers over the shoulders, hair still damp but bound back with the diamond-ribbons. His face is blank as the servant bows, "Your highness, my lord." and excuses themselves, closing the door behind them. Glorfindel watches Caumano in the mirror and raises an eyebrow when he notices a slight limp. 

"Successful, I see. Any useful information?" Glorfindel says, Caumanos face in the mirror showing a small smile, one of the wicked ones, not nice, not kind. 

"I can confidently say he's got no ties to Narmoner in any way that matters, nor to any other person of interest." Caumano answers, making his way over to the side of the mirror, leaning against it and crossing his arms, clearly waiting for something. 

"Why the confidence?" Glorfindel humors him, crossing his legs and folding his hands in a mimicry of interest. 

"Well he was far too busy inventing new prayers to Varda with all the stars he was seeing to lie in that situation." Caumano says with a grin. 

Of course he would be, comes rather unwelcome to his mind and he's glad for the wide robe under his hands. 

"Indeed? What about his trainer?" Glorfindel asks, trying to recall all the names and faces of Enwiniels house, there should be about a handful lowest nobles that got trained in combat. Most of them guards assign- stop flexing you ridiculous creature. He throws Caumano an annoyed glance and gets a raised eyebrow in return.

"Varyanil." Caumano says. 

"Varyanil? The child of Lanyalle?" Glorfindel frowns, Varyanil had connections to Mahtans house a few decades ago but since he took up guard duty with Enwiniels house he hadn't been seen inside the palace except for accompanying her. 

"The very one. I talked to the gatekeepers already, they haven't seen them without Enwiniel for short visits for a very long time. I doubt they're affiliated with any of Narmoners people." Caumano says. 

"I don't want doubt, I want a clear answer." Glorfindel shakes his head, stands up and walks over to his clothes for the day, "I will take care of this. Follow me." He says and takes a small flask out of one of the drawers he had not touched since he had visited his aunt in Valmar the last time.

Chapter Text

“Your coming of age celebration is soon, isn’t it?” Caumano remarks almost offhandedly, playing with the small carved bear he throws up and catches, and wouldn’t he know him so well, he’d believe him. 

“Yes, it is.” He says, just to get a rise out of him, not looking up from his book. The sound of wood being caught by hands stops and he waits another moment before he glances up. 

“Not that I’d protest going naked, though the people at your home having less of a problem with it makes it decidedly less thrilling, but it’s a special occasion and I’d like to look pretty dressed for you before I look pretty undressed for you.” He leans over, letting his eyes wander over Glorfindels form in a very decided way. 

Glorfindel raises his eyebrow at him, then looks down at his book. “When exactly did I say you were invited again?” He says, slowly wetting his finger to turn the page, the rustling of the paper the only noise for a few seconds. 

“You’re joking, right?” Caumano asks and sits up straight, hands on his knees as he leans forward. Glorfindel looks back at him, holding his gaze. 

“You are not invited. You will stay here. I will be gone for five days, I’m sure you’ll survive that.” He tells him, unease rising as Caumanos stare turns into a glower. 

“And here I thought you were different.” Caumano huffs full of venom as he jumps off the couch. 

“This is a gathering for my family only.” Glorfindel tells him, putting his book down, what is your fucking problem? Then spots something on Caumanos face, wait, you didn’t really think you were part of this, did you? 

“Don’t lie to yourself, I know you better than any of them.” Caumano spits, advancing on him, hands landing on the armrests of his chair, leaning above him as Glorfindel leans back. “There is no one else who knows you like I do. I’ve seen your lies, seen all the petty masks you wear. I know what you want, all those things you don’t tell anyone about. Don’t you give me ‘family only’, I’m the only friend you have.” His grey eyes are dark and the way he bares his teeth at him triggers something within Glorfindel that he wasn’t aware of. 

Usually he liked their little games, the little powerplay, but sometimes Caumano showed this very ugly, very cruel side. I wish you could be kind. You’re not my friend, you have no kindness for me. He knows on some level that it’s unfair to compare him to Ecthelion at every turn, yet he can’t not do it, not when Ecthelions gentleness is all he yearns for. As much as he believes in their cause, in what he does, there will always be a part that yearns for a soft life in the safety of Taniquetil with Ecthelion by his side. 

“Family. Only.” Glorfindel repeats with emphasis, not backing down. 

Caumano stares at him and Glorfindel sees everything he doesn’t say so very clearly there, the protest and the anger. They have been together for so many years, not having him by his side is the exemption. 

Caumano then snarls and a moment later he turns and leaves, door slamming shut behind him.

You really did.

The castle is radiant, the high white walls and columns, topped and beset with gold, delicate flowers imitated by skillfully wreathed gold and holding glowing gems illuminating it. Long curtains sway in the wind, bells chiming from the towers, and hundreds of birds flying their rounds. The air is thinner here, and there is not even the faintest hint of seawater, as it sometimes is in Tirion. 

He’s riding behind Finwe and Indis, Fingolfin, Anaire, beside him Elenwe, behind him Turgon and all his siblings. Behind them, Finarfin and Earwen with their children. 

It’s an exclusively small gathering, only the immediate family, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, grandparents. Many of them he’s only ever seen a few times. Especially his aunts and uncles, Ingils and Elenwes younger siblings, they all moved out to smaller settlements and didn’t care much for the court. 

The party is riding into the grand courtyard of the main palace, Ingwe and Ilwen standing on the stairs, their bodies illuminated brightly, eyes shining, and their presence reaching far enough for them to feel the wake of their power all the way from the other side of the place. 

Behind them he sees his parents, his mother with her dark skin and golden dress easy to spot. A few steps further up he sees Vansil and Isifinde, and Nandaro, who carries a small elven child in his arms with platinum white curls and a complexion light as her fathers. Elmendawe! 

He couldn’t keep the grin from his face even if he’d tried, but before he can snatch her up, or hug any of his siblings, he has to wait as Finwe und Ingwe greet each other, then greet his grandparents himself, and then his parents. 

There’s a knowing look on his fathers face and he ruffles his hair instead of hugging him, letting him run up to Isifinde and Nandaro, seeing Elmendawe already stretch her arms for him. She giggles loudly as he picks her up and whirls her around, her small hands grabbing for his hair and he hugs her closely. 

“How is my favorite little one? Did you miss me?” She squeals and shouts a loud “Laule!” as she pulls on his hair and he squeezes her until she pats his cheeks. “You back! Staying?” “For a few days sweetheart. We’re going to have a party.”

“It’s like nothing changed.” Glorfindel says as he comes to stop beside his father who sends him a questioning glance. 

“I’m sure Nandaro wasn’t here last time you stayed for more than a night.” Ingil says in his roughed voice, raising an eyebrow at him and Glorfindels sighs. 

“And neither was Elmendawe.” He adds with an eye roll that earns him a throaty chuckle from his father. 

He smiles down at him, green eyes so bright and the little creases around his eyes speaking of love and joy, almost more than the hand that lands on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I wish nothing has changed sometimes.” Ingil says a moment later, “That you and your siblings were still small, still young, and with me everyday. No matter how proud I am of the man you became, I miss the days when you were small enough to be carried around.” A thin sheen collects at the corners of his eyes, the sadness and gratitude he radiates loud enough to catch Glorfindel in their wake and he steps closer, hugs his father tightly, pushing his own thoughts back. 

Thank you. I missed you too. 

And for a moment he squeezes him tighter before he lets him go again, eyes definitely wet now with tears that he tries to blink away. “I heard all kinds of wonderful things from Elenwe, but you know you can come back anytime, don’t you? If you want to.” Ingil tells him a moment later, an unspoken I’ll take care of everything else in his eyes, and Glorfindel wonders exactly how much  Ingil knows about what he’s helping Elenwe with. And maybe, by pretending he doesn’t, he would do him a great disservice. 

“I know. But I can’t just yet.” He tells him instead. “But it’s almost done. Just a few ends to tie up.” 

Just a few more things, when Narmoner finally walks into the trap we set and the last of his supporters will be exposed as the disgusting people they are, nobody will follow them or listen to them. Feanor will redraw to Formenos completely, and we will have peace. And I won’t need a guard anymore. I won’t have to be as careful any longer. 

He glances over at his uncle Ornélo and Nandaro with Elmendawe on his lap, letting her play on his harp.

  I won’t have to deny myself any longer. 

He looks back to his father, who must have caught some of that by the sympathetic look on his face. 

It’s obvious, isn’t it? I want that kind of joy with him. I want you to meet him, I want mother to meet him. I want him here and free of worry.  

There is a moment where he opens his mouth, just barely, as if to say something, but then decides otherwise and simply smiles at him again before grasping his shoulder in silent support. “Come, your aunt arrived just recently and she didn’t want to stop talking to me about getting you to visit her in Valmar. Someone slacked on their studies of the holy language, as I’ve heard.” Ingil says instead, winking at him and Glorfindel sighs again. 

“I’m working on it.” He says, I had to prioritize other things the last few years. I know I shouldn’t have, but I’ll catch up when I’m done there. I promise. 

Ingil slings his arm around Glorfindels shoulder and leads him to the main hall and the front sitting room where Autamë sits with Elenwe, between them a stack of books, several small plates with confectionery and tea, all smelling so very sweet and exactly as he remembered. 

A strange thing lodges itself between his ribs and a heaviness pulls on his chest, I hadn’t realized how much I missed it here. 

It’s only much later, when he lays alone in his room, nothing but the winds of the mountains around him, letting the curtains sway, that he realizes how many cracks the strain of the last years left.

The day of the celebration starts with servants flooding his room, setting up with a small breakfast, then a bath and he has half a glass of wine while he gets his nails manicured and his hair washed. He feels featherlight as he exits the bath and sinks down on the plush chair in front of the mirror. 

A musician with a flute plays a terribly sweet song from out of his living room and as he’s getting dressed his mother comes in to hand him a pair of earrings to set on the tips of his ears, both engraved with golden flowers and small fiery red opals that have the same sheen of orange and gold his mothers eyes carry. 

They’re beautiful. 

“Thank you, mother.” He says and she places a kiss on his forehead. 

“I know red doesn’t fit with your gown this evening, but wear them anyway, yes?” She asks, hands framing his face, and he nods. 

“Of course.” 

Perhaps they are a gift from grandfather to her? Very noldo, very much like uncle Feanaro, or grandfather… I wonder if anyone would recognize them. But both sides are my family, I should not exclude this part of me. 

His mother squeezes his hand before she turns and leaves him to the skilled hands of his attendants. 

It’s not much later that his grandmother and her sister enter. 

His hair is almost done, all braids smooth and clasped with gold, the servants packing up and him standing up to greet his grandmother with a kiss and his great aunt with a small bow. 

“Grandmother, Indis, what brings you here?” He asks, “I thought gifts should be given during the party.” and eyes the small box Indis carries. 

“It’s not that kind of gift, sweetheart. Come, sit with us.” Ilwen bids and he does sit with them. Indis sets the small box down on his legs and he looks at it carefully. It’s obviously old and the metall has dents and turned bright copper at many places it must have been touched so very often. 

“What is it grandmother?” He asks but lays his hands on it anyway, feels the smoothness of the metal. 

“Open it.” She says merely and smiles at him, the corners of her lips turning up and forming the same dimples he has too. 

He does as he is told and he finds in an inlay of white velvet a small tablet, barely bigger than two of his fingers in all dimensions. It’s filled with script he can’t read. “It looks very old. Is it an heirloom?” 

“It will be one day.” Indis tells him. “It is the first script our house has made and by the time you are married I will teach you. It is meant to be given to the firstborn in a marriage of fitting standard.” She tells him softly but the words have him freeze. 

Not your own children? You disapprove of Nolofinwes bond to Anaire this much? 

“We discussed this at length, and while my sister is the older, her children aren’t vanyar. But mine are, and from all of them you carry the most powerful gifts of our house, you are what the vanyar are supposed to be.” Ilwen tells him proudly, “And when the time comes that you and your future wife, whomever of the vanyar of high nobility you might choose, this secret will be shared with you. So you may preserve what it utmost important to our kind.” Indis adds and Glorfindel feels his entire heart drop. 

His expression must have shown enough for his grandmother to gently lay his hand on his and close the box again. “Do not worry, we did not tell you to pressure you. You are young and still have a long time to find a wife. This is merely meant to be a guiding star on the horizon, how long you take to walk the path is up to you. In the safety of these lands you have nothing to fear.” Ilwen stands up and presses a kiss to his brow before Indis pats his shoulder and both of them leave him with this relevation. 

A wife. They expect me to find a vanyarin wife. I can’t tell them, I can’t tell them I’m in lo- I want someone else. This is so much more important- 

He almost gets lost in the brewing storm of complications but a knock on the door pulls him out of it. Ingil, his father, opens the door and extends his hand, “The preparations are almost done. Are you coming?”

He’s rarely ever seen him, Feanor withdrew himself from Tirion far before he was even born, and on the few occasions he’s been near him, he hadn’t had neither the chance nor need to speak to him. Even for his first coming of age, before he himself came to Tirion, Feanor didn’t attend the party, even though he was invited and he heard snippy remarks from his mother for years. 

Everyone always says they’re so similar, I wonder if that’s why they’re not close. 

Between his mothers temperament and stubbornness it was difficult to imagine someone of greater temperament and stubbornness to be a friend to them. 

Father was always calm enough for both of them. 

Even now, between all these powerful people, he shines brightly, a fire in his eyes that burns hot enough to be seen across the whole hall of the palace. He is clad in rich red velvet, embroidered with fine golden thread. His dark hair in neat braids and with many jewels and metals decorated. On his head, a golden crown with beautiful dark gems, shimmering like embers, like dark stars orbiting around him, sparks of flame in the night.  

Nerdanel at his side, red and dark, but warm, is the amboss, no heat burning her, no raging fire bringing her to fall, I wonder if her and father like each other. I don’t think mother does. 

But now that he’s on the dias, clad so finely and with all his family around him, celebrating his adulthood, he watches him step near. 

There is no reverence in his posture, even here in the halls of his grandfather, he doesn’t bow to anyone, and despite the oddity of it, he finds himself drawn to it. Feanor walks up to him, taking the last of the steps, towering over him, and yet, there is a smile on his face. He can’t look away, there is something about the intensity of his gaze, that has him fixed, waiting, and fear gripping his spine. 

He is the raging fire. The winds will only fuel him further. 

“For you, nephew.” He simply says, no words of congratulations, no well wishes, simply a small chest he extends towards him. 

Glorfindel looks down, it’s covered with dark red velvet and the feanorian star, and he takes it carefully, almost fearing it too is burning to the touch. “Thank you, uncle.” He says and nods, almost missing a spark in Feanor's bright blue eyes, so at odds with the fire in them, that he can’t place. 

There is another faint smile on his lips, not one of contempt, before he turns and walks the stairs back down.

It’s stranger still, to hand this to me without saying anything, to leave without waiting for me to look at it. 

He can’t imagine that Feanor would ever gift something he hadn’t crafted with his own hands, and he’s seen the silmarils. Knowing what beauty he creates in his singlehanded focus, he is far too eager to see what Feanor gifted him.

It’s a bit later when he takes some of the ceremonial robes off that he is in his room and  opens the small chest, and even before he’s fully lifted the top, he sees a dim light from within the chest. Surely this can’t be- 

And it isn’t. It is a bright golden gem, shining warmly, and as he reaches for it, he recognizes its melody. 

This is mine. 

In wonder he lifts it, the thin silver metal frame holding the gem. On the back he finds a finely cut inscription, Tulukhastaz. My name in valarin. He turns it back around and over and over, until he realizes, there, so carefully hidden in the fractions of light filtering through and out of it, are thin strands of his own hair. 

Where did he get that? He frowns, letting the gem dangle from it’s thin silver chain, Mithril. An expensive gift. I wonder why he made it, we’re not close. 

He hasn’t even talked to me before. Still, he opens the clasp and closes it behind his neck, letting the necklace fall on the front of his white robe, then turns to look at himself in the mirror. 

It fits. 

“A sign of your rank, a gift to your spouse, an heirloom to your line.” Feanor says more to the necklace than to him, and Findis at his side seems deep in thought. 

“Thank you, it is way more beautiful than I could have ever wished for.” Glorfindel tells him and bows his head, “Your craftmanship remains unmatched.” 

There is satisfaction in Feanors eyes, but it’s clear how little the flattering words mean to him. He turns to Findis, who hasn’t stopped looking at him, her golden eyes seeing something in Feanor that maybe Glorfindel doesn’t. “Give me a moment alone with my nephew.” He says, no bidding, more a soft command, and maybe his excitement and curiosity is easy enough for his mother to see to do as he told. 

She brushes along his arm, then turns to leave the terrace. 

Or hide behind the next column. 

Feanor takes a moment to look at him, and suddenly and despite the occasion, he feels terribly young and small and way out of his depth. Then he turns away, hands on the bannister, overlooking the lights of the castle below. “My son spoke of you, made me think you resemble your mother, yet I am here to find you quiet.” He says, not facing him, and Glorfindel steps up beside him, taking the dare, you want to call me weak after everything that happened here? But you sure did miss all the trouble you caused . 

“Yet loud enough for them to hear me.” He says, not hiding his offense at his words, “And loud enough for you to speak to me.” Feanor doesn’t look at him, but he spots the slightest turn of his mouth, satisfaction? Approval? 

“I was curious whether you dared to say what your mother didn’t.” He gets back, not quite an answer. 

What she didn’t? Is it- They always said mother was like you, but she never shared your open rebellion. Is it that? You never liked Indis nor her children because they always were too soft and too quiet for you, they weren’t gifted with fire, but with light and wind. 

“It’s the wind that fuels the flame, and when bright enough, light hurts all the same.” He says, mother is very happy where she is, to burn and to consume is not the only way to grow. But her being calmer, finding peace with the Valar doesn’t make her weak. As it doesn’t make my father weak. Valar, nobody in their right mind would call Elenwe weak. 

“Fire feeds of many things, the bellows are proof enough that the wind isn’t needed, not when we have minds keen enough.” Feanor tells him and actually looks at him with his unsettling bright blue eyes. 

But didn’t the Valar teach you how to make them? Didn’t they teach our people everything? How can you renounce them like this when your greatest accomplishments were only thanks to their teachings? Some of his thoughts must have shown, for Feanor frowns at him disapprovingly. 

“But few have those.” He adds, “And fewer use them.”

“The wind and the bellows aren’t exclusive.” Glorfindel says and a moment later, Feanor laughs. It’s neither joyful nor mean, merely as if a particularly sweet animal had performed an outstanding trick. 

Jovial. Don’t look down at me like this! You are the reason for all the troubles of the last 33 years! Anger rises too quickly to let any humiliation in, it evaporates in the heat of it, the light that dances under his skin. 

“The bellows are powerless if the wind blows the other way.” Feanor tells him, “There is a reason the smithy has a door to shut.” 

You want to get away from the Valar? You can’t deny their power. They watch over us. The realization shocks him, yet less than it should. “Until the air runs out and the flame has consumed it all. At one point or the other the door must be opened.” Glorfindel says, suddenly feeling insecure about what he thought to be a strong conviction. You can’t rebel against them, not here, their power is absolute. 

“Says who?” Feanor asks him, advancing on him, and Glorfindel takes half a step back, suddenly feeling helpless. “We have capable hands to build as we wish, capable minds to invent as we dream, who is to deny us that?” Feanor continues. “Who would deny creation and invention, cage dreams and rule without regard? The flame once kindled will only grow or perish, and a world of darkness is a sad place.” Perhaps it’s the blue flame in his eyes that binds Glorfindel, perhaps it’s the way it all makes sense, why should we bow to rules that only aim to smother us? 

He thinks of Finwe and Miriels body, the grief he must have felt and the joy when a rule was bent. He thinks of the way Ingwe suffers under the gift the Valar gave him and how it tore Elenwe and her father apart. He thinks of the court and how Feanor doesn’t let himself be pinned down, how he doesn’t bow to others' rules and demands, and how he despises Fingolfin, and he understands it far too well. 

He is an extension of them in the end.  

“I would not let that flame die.” Feanor tells him, and Glorfindel nods.

No. 

The feeling is familiar enough, to be burdened down with responsibility so heavily, it drowns him, suffocates him, smothers the light that burns in his chest into a sadly flickering candle, barely a spark of the bonfire it should be. 

I don’t want to become small and faint. I don’t want to be small and faint. 

And all the times he was dismissed and belittled were another weight set down to make him into just that, another small and faint thing that is easy to control. 

He would smother me completely if he could, wouldn’t he? 

“I will not let that flame die.” Feanor repeats and Glorfindel finds himself nodding, I don’t want to be small. 

“No, some things are meant to burn.” He agrees, the hair on his arms standing up in the wake of power that surrounds Feanor and the brightness of his eyes. 

“Yes. Some things are.” Feanor says slowly, and then, to his utter surprise, raises his hand and lays it on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, merely looks at him, almost appreciative, but so intense that Glorfindel isn’t sure what he is seeing at all. Then, a small, barely there smile appears on his face and Feanor drops his hand. “Congratulations, nephew.” He says finally and turns, leaving Glorfindel on the terrace, looking after him. 

Yes, some things are.

Laures Gift.

Chapter Text

He’s just gotten back from a summer in Kor with Angrod and Nerwen, having stretched the vacation a few days longer than originally planned and arrived just in time to get ready for Elenwes gathering. They all come to stand near the buffet table underneath the new gazebo with the silk Merenwe gifted Elenwe, the bright blue almost shining on its own, vibrant in its color. Her terrace is decorated with faint blue curtains and lanterns, golden flowers and lillies interwoven around the pillars. Elenwe and Turgon stand hand in hand, both grinning widely as servants carry in an ornate cake with berries and nuts, glazed with threads of caramel, sweet as Elenwe loves it. 

It’s a cozy gathering of their closest family and friends, and Elenwes entourage, even if a rather spontaneous one. Is she announcing a new chef for her entourage? 

He spots Ecthelion in a very sharp looking robe, his hair carefully braided back and exposing the beautiful curve of his jaw up to his ear, couldn’t it have been just the cake that’s looking delicious? Glorfindel wonders, looking back at the table, eyeing the terrific looking cake, has she finally managed to strike a contract with the supplier she wanted for the palace for months now? Eru, I wish I had wine. 

The cake is placed on the table between them and Turgon lifts Elenwes hand to his mouth, placing a soft kiss on the back of it, holding her gaze for a moment and Glorfindel thinks he’s never seen a man more in love. It hurts a little to watch, especially with Ecthelion in the corner of his eye, barely visible but impossible to miss. Not even Caumano standing right beside him, close enough that he feels the heat of his arm radiate through his clothes, yet barely not touching, does anything to change it. 

Neither does the cracking of wood above them. 

The terrace must be well shielded from the wind if the tree is rustling like this.

A small group of musicians trailing from the livingroom to sit at the other end of the garden on a low bench, starting to play a soft but joyful song. That’s a bit dramatic just to announce your new confiserie chef, isn’t it? They’re just putting buns in ovens. 

“Thank you for gathering here today, dear friends, family.” Turgon says and Elenwe beams at him, “We’re having an extremely important announcement to make.” Yes, I know, you love sweets. She starts loudly, raising her hands, “We’re having a-”  only to be interrupted by a loud shout, a body falling right in front of them, on top of the opulent cake, and splattering it over everyone near it. 

Glorfindel feels a slap of something hit his chest and some smaller things hit his face. It’s wet and squishy. Uhg . Around him a wave of surprised yelping and disgruntled huffing, and some creative curses, erupts. 

“- a problem.” Elenwe says, looking way less bright and more disappointed than he’s ever seen her, staring at the elf on her cake, “We’re having a problem.” 

He follows her line of sight only to see that said elf is hurt badly, the red spots on them not squished berries but dried blood in multiple layers. Valar. Is this… Itamë?

  She looks terribly pale and he’s taking a step forward but Caumano is quicker, lifts her off of the cake and onto the floor in front of Elenwe as Turgon asks the other guests to leave. 

He glances over, sees the musicians hurry out, followed by a trail of their friends and family, between them Ecthelion who is splattered with berries and sauce like blots of blood and looks very much shaken. 

Turgon brings them into their living room and surely out of the doors, Glorfindel kneels beside Caumano. In but a moment the air around them warms and Elenwes clear voice rises above the noise as a bright light emits from her form, sinks from her into Itamës body. In the wake of the light the colour of her skin returns and a few seconds later she takes a violent breath, her whole upper body yanked off of the floor with it. 

“Be calm, you’re safe now.” Elenwe tells her, hands on Itamës cake smeared chest. Itamës eyes find Elenwes and he sees how she’s falling in on herself the moment she recognizes her, nodding weakly, but her breathing evens out. What happened to you? 

The question burns on his tongue but he doesn’t dare interrupt Elenwe and Itamë. He looks up for a moment, wait, she couldn’t have climbed here, did she? He turns to Caumano, who’s staring at Itamë with almost the same intensity, deep lines between his eyebrows. “Who’s rooms are above this? Or which are accessible over the roof?” He asks him, someone either dropped her or she escaped through one of the windows. 

Caumano blinks at him, storm grey eyes lighting up, and he jumps to sprint off the moment he understands. But if she’s been captive within the palace, who has the resources to keep someone hidden in a state like this? And why did she escape now? 

“Why did you make the gathering so spontaneous, was there someone who shouldn’t know?” He asks Elenwe. His aunt sits back on her heels, wipes her face before she looks at him, disappointment and frustration in her eyes. “No, Laure. Nobody knows. Nobody except Turukano and I, and even that for a few days now only.” Turgon comes back from the terrace and reaches for her, kneels beside her. 

“It’s got nothing to do with this.” Turgon says quietly and Elenwe leans over to press a soft kiss to her husband's cheek before she looks back at him, eyes already a little more glittering than usual, but it is the only thing that tells him she might not be completely calm. 

“We’re having a baby. I’m pregnant.” 

So there’s only one bun in the oven. And Turukano is your new confiserie chef, does that count as promotion? 

“We wanted to tell everyone today.” Turgon says then, bright eyes full of sadness, “We had planned for a little chaos, but not for this. Itamë was missing for weeks.” He looks back down at Itamë, her breathing had slowed down and she seems calmer, yet still somewhat weak as Elenwe scoops her up and carries her over to the couch on the terrace, setting her down carefully. 

Glorfindel follows her, sitting on her other side, hand reaching out to fixate her head as it almost lolls back. 

“Oh Itamë, what happened to you?” Elenwe takes her hands again, then lifts one hand to lay it above her heart and Elenwe humms again, a soft song that is so full of power, the air around him seems too dense to even breathe it. He needs to scoot a little away, the might of Elenwe too much to bear without getting lightheaded. He’s not sure how long it takes but suddenly there is Turgon again, bowing down to give Itamë a glass of water as she smiles gratefully at both of them. 

“It’s the poison, isn’t it? How did they catch you?” Elenwe asks, voice soft, leaning into Turgons side as he stands beside her.

Itamë nods, “Yes. Someone snuck up behind me, I hadn’t heard or felt anything.” 

“Do you remember when that was? You were gone for 4 weeks and 3 days now.” Turgon asks her. 

“I was near the rooms of Indis when I saw Hendunarnon enter.” 

“Hedunarnon? I thought he was away around Formenos.” Glorfindel interjects and Elenwe and Itame look at him. 

“That is what I last heard too, that’s why I thought it so suspicious. Especially since Indis has little love for Feanaro or any of his sons.” Itame tells him, “I walked close to the door to listen to what was spoken about, but before I could hear anything I blacked out. After that I was bound somewhere and there was always this sharp smell. And sometimes-” Glorfindel sees her hand in Elenwes, holding on to each other, and while they look at each other something passes through Elenwes eyes, he lips pressing thin. 

What hurt her so badly? What did they do? He finds it hard to imagine cruelty against Itame who’s slender and soft figure offers little strength in battle, finds it hard to imagine it at all that someone would want to hurt someone as small and beautiful as her, yet there are lingering thoughts of what Caumano told him and in his mind a faceless shadow towers above the form of Elenwes closest confidant. “Laure. I need you to find out who went in and out of the palace.” The command has him on his feed in an instant and he barely looks at the three of them before he speeds off.

It’s long and arduous work, finding the right people to speak to and speak to them in a way that doesn’t alarm them further than the gossip of a body falling right onto Elenwes cake before people being thrown out of her quarters by Turgon can anyway. He hasn’t forced his way into the quarters, one of her musicians let him in. He tells Alcarinion what little he manages to find out before they part ways again, his mind racing while he tries to be as alert as possible, missing something now could cost us dearly. What they’ve done to Itame…

He’s back in his rooms, taking off the dark blue robe and dropping it on the floor in front of the bathtub when he hears the rooms to his door open. A sudden sense of unease overcomes him and he reaches for the next thing he sees - a pair of scissors from the vanity, before he hides behind the door. He hears clothes rustling as someone moves, carefully and quiet but decidedly in his direction. The moment he sees the shape peak from beside the door he grips them, flips them around and kneels down, a knee on their back. It’s over in the blink of an eye and he sees Caumanos face pressed to his bathroom tiles. 

Why are you sneaking in here like this? You could have just said something. 

He sighs in annoyance and stands up, throws the scissors into the next corner. A sharp cluttering sound cuts through the silence, followed by a groan from Caumano who picks himself off of the floor. 

“At least you’re on your guard.” He says with a huff, starting to unbutton his dirty tunic. Glorfindel turns away, looks to the bathtub that’s slowly filling with warm water and foam. He unlaces his trousers, letting them drop where he stands. “I thought you were sleeping already, it’s dark in here.” Caumano says after a moment. 

“That is your excuse?” Glorfindel answers utterly unimpressed, putting one foot into the bath. It’s warm and smells fresh, flowers and lemon grass. A pathetic lie. 

“Since when do I need an excuse to walk in the quarters that I live in?” Once again Caumanos words don’t surprise him. You’ve become predictable. 

“If you want to live here, you will do as I say, guard. Don’t forget your place.” He sinks into the bathwater, leveling Caumano with a glare. He too is down to his undershirt and pants, and there is a tension in his shoulders, in his hands, in his arms, that he has no right to, that makes Glorfindel livid. 

“How much longer do you want to treat me like a servant?” Caumano asks, wait, is there hurt in your voice? Are you honestly hurt? 

“Are you trying to portray it as if I was the one mistreating you? As if these circumstances weren’t the consequences of your own choices? Of your own words? Do not try to lie to me, you may claim to have seen through my mask, but be sure I have seen through yours too.” He tells him, deadly quiet, and silence following. 

Caumano stares at him, defiance, anger, more hurt, conflict. Yes, you know I’m right. Don’t let your pride and stubbornness catch up to you. “It’s been two years.” Caumanos says instead, resentment clear in his voice. 

Yes, two years during which I could have used your company and what did you give me? Trouble. Sometimes I really wonder if you’re even worth it. 

“I’m here to protect you. However long this might take, I’m here and I won’t let anything get to you.” Caumano tells him, not moving, but his grey eyes are bright enough in the dark to make him look at him. See him. “And as long as this takes, neither you nor I can have anyone else. Why now throw this away? We were a good team.” Caumano continues, voice quieter towards the end, carrying a cadence that Glorfindel doesn’t even want to think about. 

I’m just not in the position to have friends. And neither are you. It was in the strangest of ways, comforting, to have someone by my side who couldn’t leave either. We were chained together, but it wasn’t the worst fit.

“That we were.” Glorfindel agrees, sees the question rise in Caumanos gaze, were? But are we still? We broke apart back then, didn’t we? He tilts his head, hair floating in the water around him. “Do not overstep again, Caumano. A useful assistant is difficult to find.” He tells him, as much a threat as it is a plea, broken people broke apart, don’t break me further, you’re meant to keep the pieces together. And smashing them together will make neither of them whole again. 

It’s the ugliest part that he doesn’t want to look at, the part that he always hides in the furthest corner of his fea, but the one he can’t deny. Broken, damaged, neither of us can be happy. We’re not good in that way, not in the way that matter. Not in the way one needs to be happy and loved. Caumano stares at him a moment longer before he shakes his head and drops the rest of his cake smeared clothes onto the pile, even in the dark the red berry sauce on his shirt looks like blood. Is that how it looks when we finally crack open and fall apart? He’s already turned when the words fall out of his mouth, a quiet but clear “Wait.” 

He does wait, turns his head and looks back at him and Glorfindel extends his hand, a silent invitation. For the longest moment Caumano stares at him, eyes bright gray like the lightning lit skies in the storm, not in the way we need, but we can’t have anything else. Caumano turns and follows in on the invitation, can’t have anything else and I’ve been so lonely. It’s almost worse, even though he holds him close, he can’t get the feeling to leave him, I’ve been so lonely. 

“We don’t have anyone here we could send to Formenos.” Elenwe says later as they sit in her study, lists and maps connected with string in an attempt to figure out who took Itame. 

“What about Findekano?” Glorfindel says, he would try, he’s been lonely too, he would do his very best to get into that fortress one way or another. 

Elenwe stares at him for a moment, her mouth still in that gentle smile, her face calm. “Laure, I do not think that it would be a wise idea. If he gets caught someone will not walk away from that encounter, and we can’t afford it to be Findekano or, more likely, whoever wants to stop him.” 

“Is there no way to make sure he isn’t seen?” 

“No, staying hidden is not among his talents.” Elenwe shakes her head and looks back to the map. 

“What about Itarisse? She is good at hiding and sneaking.” He tries but Elenwe shakes her head again. 

“No, she’s been around Tyelkormo too much, he’s too brash and would only make her presence known, whether he wanted to or not.” 

He wouldn’t think about it in the one crucial moment, Glorfindel thinks, part of him glad they don’t have to rely on him since he didn’t want to anyway. Argon is too young. Turukano is an open book. There really is nobody who could infiltrate the castle. 

“Maybe we don’t have to get into Formenos. We could try to catch Tyelkormo outside, this is something my sister would do easily. And then we can listen to what he has to say about Hendunarnon.” Turgon says, interrupting Elenwes train of thoughts. 

She smiles at him, “Ever the rational, my heart.” She says with so much fondness, “Someone has to when you’re taking it on yourself to solve every mystery down to the smallest detail. Perhaps what happens inside the fortress can also stay there. If this is Indis doing, she surely has no idea what monster she invited in her rooms.” 

“She surely doesn’t.” Elenwe agrees and squeezes her husbands hand as he reaches for her. 

“I haven’t heard much good about her musician. He wouldn’t be the first to spend time with the wrong folk.” Caumano adds from where he stands beside Glorfindel who turns to him. 

“But why would he have let Hedunarnon do this to Itame?” 

“We don’t even know if he did.” Turgon says, “We only know that she was attacked when she followed him. Perhaps there are others we have not yet discovered.” 

“It could be… It was rather quiet the last few years.” Elenwe says and sets down her teacup. “And now I think it might have just been the calm before the storm.”

“So what do you propose?” Turgon asks calmly as they watch Elenwe think.

“I might have… someone. A friend who knows someone who could help us. Not all those working for Mahtans house are loyal supporters of Feanor. Some are quite fond of a peaceful Tirion.” Elenwe tells them. 

“You would someone on the outside give such an important task?” Glorfindel asks her a little perplexed, didn’t you tell me that there should never be anyone else involved than those absolutely necessary? What happened to that? Mahtans house is barely even above the low noble class. Who would there be that could venture in and out of Formenos without raising suspicion? 

Elenwe frowned at him as if he had said a terribly stupid thing and he fights the urge to frown back at her, “Of course I will, sweetheart. If it is necessary. We must always do what is necessary to achieve the greater good.”

He doesn’t quite like it, but it has been like this on many instances. Elenwe is always right in the end, he thinks, it is through her guidance that we have come so far. He bows his head, “Of course, dear aunt.” He answers and excuses himself as soon as he can.

It is a few days later when he comes back from training with Caumano, one of the rare instances when he is without his guard. It has been quiet in the last few months, I wonder where they ran off to .

A loud crash has him whipping around and he sees a man drop to the floor, a dagger clattering beside him, a flash of silver on the dark tiles. 

What in the valars- 

“Excuse me.” Narmoner takes a step away from him, draws his hands behind his back. “I hadn’t wanted to startle you. But he has been following you quietly for a while now and I hadn’t wanted to risk you.” His voice is gentle and Glorfindel looks at his face, eyes hooded and a smile on his face that speaks of desire. 

What are you doing here… in these robes most of all? 

The red sheer robes were in no way fit for court, for private quarters only, at least to noldorin standards. “You have not.” Glorfindel lies, “And neither has he. With him I know why he followed me, you though? What brings you to my aunts wing of the palace, Narmoner?” He clasps his hands behind his back and draws his shoulders straight, watches the way Narmoner draws some of his loose hair behind his ears. He has recognized the man on the ground in an instant, it is someone he hasn’t expected to ever see again.

He could be called beautiful had he a kinder face, truly. The way he is so clearly dressed for a private occasion and what was in his hands? A metal bottle? Has he been… drinking? 

A waft of alcoholic smell drifts over to him and Narmoner grins, it’s not a kind smile, but a happy one. “My apologies, your highness. I had borrowed from he majesties wine cellar as I am expecting a guest. I will take my leave now, if you would excuse me.” Narmoner tells him and bows, exaggeratedly low. 

Glorfindel eyes him for a moment too long, Narmoner looks up at him and his lips curl in a smile, “Except your highness wishes me to stay, surely it would be my honor to-” he starts but Glorfindel cuts him off with a polite “Do not bother. Leave.” and extends his arm towards the doors. 

Narmoner shows little disappointment and does as he is told, leaving Glorfindel with the unconscious Hedunarnon on the floor. Surely he is not one of Elenwes unassuming spies? Used without himself knowing?

And where is Caumano when I need him, why has this happened now out of all times? 

He leans out of the room to fetch a guard, calling for Alcarinion, who promptly arrives a few minutes later. Just when Alcarinion dragged the other through the door and down the hallway, Glorfindel turns and finds himself face to face with a woman with reddish hair and a wide grin. 

“My apologies,” She bows low over her bag. Her robes are simple but made of expensive fabric and interwoven with beautiful little wings, white on blue like Itame wears them often. 

He dismisses her, lets her pass, watching her walk down the hallway. 

Strange, I can’t remember Elenwe having hired someone like her. The blue… it must have been one of her spies from the lower city. And the red hair… maybe she is the friend Elenwe spoke of, the one of Mathans house that would help us. 

She seemed to know where she wanted to go to and Glorfindel decides to ask Elenwe about it when they have found out who let Hedunarnon into the palace. 

The seamstress exits Elenwes' rooms before him and he greets her with a kind smile as she bows, several beautiful bolts of fabric in her arms. 

“Are you already preparing your pregnancy wardrobe dear aunt?” Glorfindel asks as he enters, finding Elenwe on the couch with Itame attending her. 

Elenwe laughs, high and kind, “Darling, I have many talents, but designing is not one of them. This was entirely Itames doing.” 

“I had decades time thinking up designs,” Itame starts, blushing a little, “I am looking forward to see them in motion.” 

“That is so very kind of you.” Elenwe reaches for Itames hand and squeezes it and for a moment Glorfindel feels a terrible ache in his heart. 

“In any case, I came to inform you that Hedunarnon has been apprehended. He followed me to my rooms.” Even if way more quiet than I expected. I am glad you had a spy watching the other way too. Without Narmoner intercepting, I don’t know if I would have noticed him. He was so quiet. Was I lost in thoughts? Not to mention what had he wanted? Take me away as they had done with Itame? The thought alone has shivers run down his spine and he wishes for his glaive and the calmness his ancestors weapon brings him. “Though I was surprised that Narmoner helped me, he struck him down.” He continues and Elenwe raises her eyebrows at him. 

“Truly?” She says and hands whatever fabric she had in her hand back to Itame who stows it away in a box. “What an odd occurrence, where did he come from?” 

“His rooms, I think. He wore a sheer gown that didn’t leave much to imagination.” Glorfindel says with distaste and Itame laughs quietly while Elenwe throws him a pitying glance. 

“He has entertained many guests the last weeks, I hadn’t expected him to leave his rooms at all, much less come to yours. Though he has been quite obviously after you every now and then…” She trails off, thinking, and Glorfindel feels uneasy as she seems to look through him. 

But I had never really encouraged any of his advances. I wish I won’t have to.

A knock on the door has him turning and Itame walks over, opens the door just a bit. Glorfindel sees a glance of brown hair and lightblue gown, feather-embroidered sleeves, then Itame closes it again and walks over to Elenwe, hands her a small paper. 

“What is it?” He asks impatiently, walking over to sit beside Elenwe on the couch. “Hedunarnon entered through the musicians garden. The one with the flowerwalls. One of my birds just let me know. It is indeed within sight of the rooms Narmoner is in, or more specific the corridors. If he was out to get more wine, he could have easily spotted Hedunarnon.” Elenwe explains and hands him the small paper that says as much. “Who has been practicing there?” Elenwe asks Itame smiles, “Hruion.”. Elenwe simply sighs, “Of course.” 

“Isn’t he the one who-” Glorfindel starts and Elenwe smiles her usual kind smile that never holds any of the strain she must feel. 

“Yes Laure, exactly that one.” 

“Which means we can’t simply apprehend him because he would know you’re aiming to get him? And he knows Itame and Alcarinion too well?” Glorfindel asks to which again, Elenwe nods. 

Itame takes seat on the couch opposing them and speaks up as she rights the saucer on the glass table. “If you allow me, your highness, I might have an idea on how to get him.” 

They wait nearly an hour before Itame returns, grinning widely and wickedly and Glorfindel feels an air of threat that surprises him for half a moment before he realizes that Elenwe hadn’t hired her simply because she was kind and attentive. 

Just as much as Alcarionion isn’t decoration at her side either.

“It’s all prepared. If you would kindly follow me, you highness. Prince Laurefindele, your guard awaits you outside. We are approaching from the front and garden door, he can not escape.” Itame tells them, very proudly and rightly so, as Glorfindel and Elenwe soon find out. In the second practice hall, the one with the rose-terrace and the divans for audience, stands a great harp, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, almost three meters tall and overly decorated with gold. 

Indis tends to overdo things, Elenwe said.  

The whole room glows in the silver light of Telperion that is reflected by the mirror panels, which make it even more obvious how much of Hruions attention lies on the vanyar on his lap. 

He only realizes he’s surrounded when Alcarinion and Caumano close the doors to the room, all exits blocked. He jumps up, pushes the vanyar ungently and hastily turns, tries to right his hair again before his face turns ugly, mouth drawn into a snarl. 

Caumano and Alcarinion approach him, making a move for his arms. 

“What? You played me?” The lousy musician exclaims loudly at the vanyar who leans his hips against the divan they were on a moment ago. Hruion is crying and throwing his hands up and Glorfindel sees out of the corner of his eye how the other just crosses his arms, shimmering, pale blond locks tumbling over the shoulder of his expensively embroidered dress. 

“Like the cheap xylophon you are.” The beautiful vanyar laughs, blue eyes sparkling as he watches Alcarinion drag him to the gardens. Glorfindel and Caumano take a few steps back, seeing Itame walk over to the vanyar before they open the doors again, and Hruions cry of “HOW DARE YOU-” follows him and Caumano out into the corridor until the door falls shut. 

It’s not much later when Elenwe tells him over tea that he should check up on Narmoner, see what he is thinking and doing, since he had acted unpredictably. So Glorfindel goes to dress up and pays him a visit at his villa in the city, leaves Caumano at the entry as he has done many times before to go sit with him on the terrace among the hyacinths. 

He was about to curse at Elenwe for making him have smalltalk alone with him until he spots a familiar face framed by red hair among the gardners. She has her hair bound back in the way most noldo workers do, decorated with golden hoops, and when she meets his eye she gives him a quick smile that brings Glorfindel much ease. 

Not alone then, thank you for keeping an eye on me. 

It’s not that Narmoner is an unpleasant conversationalist, he is quite good at it and Glorfindel laughs earnestly again and again, but he does not like the wolfish glint in his eyes on bit. 

No matter when, I always feel like prey with him. 

He tells Caumano as much when he is finally able to leave, having gained the certainty that Hruion was not one of his plans.

 “Too bad he can’t have an accident.” Caumano tells him and holds him a little closer than needed while guiding him through the masses of elves on the streets. 

“Violence is not the solution.” Glorfindel tells him almost harshly, weary from the long afternoon at Narmoners. 

“No,” Caumano agrees, “It is but a tool.” 

For whom? 

A moment he glances up at Caumano, the sharpness of his profile, the silver of his gleaming eyes, the way he holds himself, and he thinks you would use it to make the world fit the mold of my wishes, would you? 

Caumano glances down and the moment their eyes meet his lips curl just the faintest bit. It’s the moment Glorfindel knows the answer to his question clearly, the only thing unsolved remaining if he would let him.

But a wound would only cause other wounds, would it not?

Chapter Text

He comes to Elenwes quarters with his hair half done, following her summonings in the middle of preparations for the evenings event. Elenwe stands inbetween Itame and Alcarinon who style her hair while she is bowed over her grand strategy table. 

“Laure, there you are finally. Where is Caumano?” Her voice has an edge that makes him alert instantly. 

“In my rooms, what is wrong? Is it Itarille?” 

“No.” Elenwe says clipped, “She is with Turukano. It’s Hedunarnon. He was let out. There is still a spy in the palace.” Paper crumbles in her hand, only a tiny bit, before she flattens her hand again and raises the smile back to her face. “You will not under any circumstances leave your guard, Laurefindele. Surely you understand the importance and direness of the situation, yes?” 

Hedunarnon, the weapons storage, the spies that almost got Itame killed, they are still here. They are here and they are acting now. They must have gotten him out for a reason. But what have we missed? What have we missed? 

He stares at the table with Elenwes notes and maps and blinks, no answer appearing. “Of course.” He tells Elenwe before bowing and exiting the room again, hurrying to get back to Caumano. On the way he spots Ecthelion across the courtyard, accompanied by a red haired servant in Elenwes colors, her again, and, I just hope we’re careful enough to avoid the worst.

“If he’s got broken out, don’t you think it’s only a short matter of time until they will act?” Caumano asks him as he returns and his servants resume braiding his hair. 

“A short matter of time, yes, but it could be days or only hours. And we can’t stop the event for this.” Glorfindel tells him unhappily. 

Caumano stops and leans against his vanity, his pale hands tracing the edge of the stone plate that serves as table. 

He’s wearing some pearl rings from his parents? Glorfindel looks up to catch Caumano stare at him and for a moment he thinks he might reach for his hand, but then Caumano draws his own back and crosses his arms. 

“And as far as we know Feanaro is still in Formenos, half the world away. Grandfather isn’t attending because of him. If he moves out we will know, Elenwe has a bird in place I think. Though it might be here with Ecthelion at the moment.” 

“As long as they don’t find and eliminate that bird when they act.” Caumano replies, holding his gaze. 

“It’s a danger that will always exist.” Glorfindel says, but if they already caught Itame, who else could there be that is better hidden than her? How trustworthy can someone who isn’t close to Elenwe really be? There is so much they can not be certain of that Glorfindel doesn’t even know where to start. It started with Autinde and her father, Angion, with the flowers in the paint. With Hedunarnon who collected the flower for some middle man who has been all but killed in the cells. Angulociens wine barrels transport weapons. The pins were with deeply devoted feanorian supporters. The musicians instruments were crafted with wood from Angion. It all leads back to Narmoner and yet, he never acted in any way supporting of their business. Could it really be that he has nothing to do with it or was he just too smart? Smart enough to trick even Elenwe? 

He stares at his own face in the mirror, green eyes with golden spots, his tan skin glowing with power almost as bright, his golden hair decorated with golden clasps over and over, shining like Laurelin. 

Just what have I missed? He thinks to himself, but just as before in Elenwes' rooms, he can’t find any answer.

The whole event makes it easy to forget that this is just the calm before the storm, that Hedunarnon and whoever freed him is out there. The light of the trees is brilliant from afar, yet almost overwhelming when standing under it. It's brightness illuminates their skin and hair and Glorfindel finds himself looking at Caumano for a second too long. 

He's got his dark hair braided back, in his braids golden clasps with Glorfindels insignia, matching earrings and necklace over his stiff white robe, the silver pieces of shining armor, golden accents on both clothes and metal. His silver eyes shine whenever he's close to Telperion, a sight Glorfindel filed away deep inside the corner of him he doesn't like to think about any more than he absolutely has to. 

His own robes are long and glittering, flowing white and gold with embroidery, a crown on his head, his hair half braided to carry clasps and jewels, the rest freely flowing down his back. It's one of his favorite robes so far, newly commissioned by Ingwe, whom he sees surrounded by his servants not too far from him. 

It’s good to see him outside the castle. I should go to him later, I wonder if he missed me. And where is atyo?

His tall figure and silver-blonde hair is easy to make out, the thin curls glowing with the same ethereal starlight he carries in his eyes and under his skin, like the small wisps of light that follow him around. 

Finwes absence couldn't be louder, the place where he usually stands with his sons and grandsons strangely incomplete, like an open wound in their collective. Olwe and Earwen are glittering with pearls and they seem to float, carrying the smell of ocean salt with them.

 The Valar and Maiar, towering over them, walk between them, and Glorfindel feels Caumano tense up as Tulkas walks by them, smiling down at them, his powerful presence making the air around him shimmer and shift, as if he himself was the flame. Glorfindel smiles back up at him, greeting him. Tulkas walks on and Glorfindel searches for Elenwe and Turgon, finding them near Laurelin with little Idril in Turgons arms. 

Her big blue eyes sparkle under the light of the trees and her chubby fingers make grabby hands at the leaves above them as she giggles happily. Glorfindel can't quite keep the smile from his face, Idril is more precious than any child of his family that he's ever seen and the fierce love he feels for her surges up and almost chokes him. 

He walks over and hugs Elenwe tightly, Caumano half a step beside him, guardian at his shoulder. He let's her go and Caumano too greets her, bowing low "Radiant as always, your highness." he says and Elenwe laughs, "Stand up Caumano, the only one that should be bowing to at this place are the Valar." 

"I told you." Glorfindel says, looking from Elenwe to Caumano. 

"Forgive me, my prince, I simply had to." 

Elenwe shoots a mischievous smirk at Glorfindel who answers with a subtle shrug. 

"Where is your entourage?" he asks instead. 

"He's over there." Elenwe says, turning to the side and Glorfindel follows Elenwes gaze to a group of blue and silver clothed elves, all looking ethereal in the silver light, gems sparkling on their hair like pearls of water, but one especially catches Glorfindels eye. 

Ecthelions clear blue eyes are wide as he watches the maiar in the middle of the clearing, watches Vana dancing with Tulkas to the music of the vanyarin orchestra. His beautiful face shimmers with yearning and fascination. 

Stay like this a little longer. You belong into the silver light. 

A hand touches his own and he sees Caumano, eyebrows drawn together. 

Valar, I'm slipping. 

There's a quiet understanding between then, Caumano nodding subtly when he finds Glorfindels mask back up. He turns back to Elenwe and finds her gone, a few meters away to Turgon and Idril, Turgon lifting Elenwe in his arms who holds Idril up to the lowest leaves of Laurelin, laughing wildly. 

"Let's go somewhere else." Caumano says, voice somewhat strange, and Glorfindel feels irritation rise up his chest and back, tingling in his fingers. 

Don't put your expectations onto me. 

"Have you seen him?" Glorfindel asks instead, scanning the crowd. 

"Not yet. Over there is more red." Caumano answers, gesturing subtly to a group of noldor with red and golden robes in the place where Feanor would have been standing. 

It's strange to see our kind so incomplete and at ill ease with each other. This tension that's been growing for years now… we can't have much longer until it boils over. 

He makes his way over there, walking in a great arch that takes him close to Ecthelion, taking two seconds to admire his soft gaze from a closer distance. 

When this is over, when the conflict is over and I'm no longer needed to lie and spy, then- he thinks about threading his own fingers through the pretty, ring-adorned fingers that hold this beautiful silver flute and looks ahead, pretending for a second the dark haired elf on his side was someone else. 

He'd look breathtaking in the white and gold of my family. Blue may fit his eyes but the white would make them stand out all the more. 

He makes smalltalk with a few elves he knows from court as tradition requires, all important families greet each other, this is a festival of unity and peace after all.  

Caumano stands quietly at his side, face neutral, but he scans the crowd, watches out for movement, as Glorfindel speaks with noble after noble. They’re through another thirty from the lower noldorin court, most of them terribly blessed that the vanyarin prince deigned to grace them with a few kind words, none even remotely realizing nor resisting the subtle charm in his words, how much more content they are afterwards, how calmer and happier. 

“If I hear another, whatever you need, your highness, it would be my honor, I’m going to throw up on Turcafinwe.” Caumano whispers near Glorfindels ear as they part from the group, just loud enough for him to hear. 

The picture in his mind, eyes shooting over to see said elf in extravagant hunting garb half-wrestling with Aredhel, Glorfindel tenses, all training on decorum needed to not just break out in laughter. 

“Next time I hear that I’ll throw you at them.” Glorfindel says back, “Cause I really need a break.” 

“And here I was thinking you weren’t keen on sharing.” Caumano laughs, i hate you sometimes. Hate that you know me. 

“I told you thinking wasn’t your strong suit and yet you’re always trying it again.” Glorfindel says flatly, stopping to gaze around, searching for an opening, when he feels Caumano step closely up to him, like an advisor would to whisper into his ear, while a hand lands on his butt, like no advisor would do. 

“The outcome tends to be favorable.” Caumano whispers, knowing the breath on his ear would drive Glorfindel mad. He huffs, irritation surging up inside his chest. 

“Stand down, guard.” He says, and this time his voice is filled with authority and a spark of power, and he feels Caumano reel back, standing straight again. 

He finds Itame near with Alcarinion, both standing elbow to shoulder, Itames short height making Alcarinion tower over her, both having a glass of wine in hand, watching Elenwe and her family from afar. Both notice him and Caumano and bow their heads. Alcarinion wears a beautiful dark blue robe with silver stars around the collar and a thin cape with golden embroidery, a simple pair of earrings and a complicated ornate braid. 

He looks like the epitome of noldorin fashion, Glorfindel thinks and yearns a little, he really does look good, feeling strangely remembered of the crush he used to have on this kind hearted, immaculate guard. But I am over this now. He’s just handsome, he tells himself firmly . 

Itame smiles wildly, her blond hair curled for once and tumbling over her shoulders. Glorfindels eye is caught by the diamond studded shoulder pads of her gown, silver and precious stones imitating wings, “This is quite beautiful, dear Itame. A gift?” He asks conversationally and she nods, “Her majesty was far too kind, I had not wanted a compensation for my own mistakes, but she insisted on a replacement for my lost gown.” She tells him and with every little movement the light of Telperion gets thrown around by her diamonds. 

“Your lost gown?” He asks, mesmerized by the beautiful craftsmanship. 

“When I was captured I had one of my favorite gowns on, the one with the wings embroidered on the shoulders. It was a gift from my sister back in Taniquetil.” Itame explains and an image flashes in front of Glorfindels eyes. 

I saw that gown! 

Caumano lays a hand on the small of his back and his head whips around. 

“The spy. I know who the spy is.” 

“What?” Caumano asks confused and looks to Itame who already pushed her cup towards Alcarinion. 

“Narmoners gardener. The red haired woman, I saw her wearing your dress. She must have entered the palace-” 

“-and freed Hedunarnon and destroyed the evidence.” Itame finishes just as Alcarinion nods. 

“So it was Narmoner all along.” Fuck. 

He wants to turn around, search for Elenwe as darkness explodes and a bitter smell rises amongst them and cries deafen him. The light of the trees has vanished and a presence so vile and so bone shattering evil overcomes them, Glorfindel finds himself trembling.

ELENWE! He shouts for her, feeling Caumano come close to him and hold him with one arm, the other drawing his sword. Alcarinion rushes by them and he feels Itames hand on his elbow. 

“You have to detain him. Create a diversion, anything to buy us time.” She urges and he nods, “I will. I will- Please-” “Go! We will find you later! We need to get Itarille to safety first!” 

Get Itarille out of here so Elenwe can deal with this.

  Already he feels wind whip up around them, a clear and yet terrible voice rising above the winds, and in the darkness he sees a light glimming. Another one joins, two voices in a duet, silver and golden light mingling and rushing in. 

Yet, leaving the premise he spots fire, torches, and he takes Caumanos hand, follows the voices of anger and the call to gather. 

It takes a moment to find him, but he sees him slip away just as Feanor takes the stage, “Some things are meant to burn!” His voice is so loud yet nothing in comparison to the cheering chorus that has the walls of the city shaking. He draws his hood tighter and slips past bystanders, Caumano directly beside him, until they reach a side entrance of the palace, nothing more than an entrance for servants. 

Narmoner enters, calm and collected as if he was walking towards his victory. 

But you will not get it. You will fail, you will not push this plan any further. I won’t let you. He looks to Caumano who squeezes his hand before drawing his sword again. If we don’t hurry now, this is going to get so much worse. We got to stop him, I have to- 

Sprinting as quickly through the halls of the castle wing that belong to Feanors highest ranking, his train of thought gets caught up in the rising feeling of dread at the vision of Narmoners doors. He hesitates for all but a second before turning down the hallway, the distance separating him from whatever lies behind shrinking step by step. He barely hears the clatter of Caumanos chainmail until a hand grabs his arm and pulls him back. 

Caumanos face is full of worry, wholly empty of the usual bravado, and it hurts the ugly thing that took place inside Glorfindels ribcage. 

Not now. 

“Wait.” Caumano says, both hands on Glorfindels shoulders, “Wait, let’s think first.” 

“We don’t have time for a plan. Not for another than the one we already had.” Glorfindel says defensively, shrugging Caumanos hands off. 

“Had. Before we knew the trees would die. For all we know he could be responsible for it!” Caumano hisses, voice in a tone Glorfindel never heard before. 

In all the time, he’s never looked so desperate. 

“All the more reason to take him out of the game.” Glorfindel says heatedly. 

“It’s no game when your life is on the line!” Caumano argues and Glorfindel makes a frustrated noise, turns. Caumano jumps around him, blocking his way. 

“Wait, let me do it.” He says, and it doesn’t take much at all to hear the fear in his voice. 

Shut up. 

“He’ll punch you in the ground again and that leaves me without backup and with a bad offset. Get out of the way, you’re no help here.” Glorfindel pushes at him but Caumano resists.

“He won’t, I trained. I’m better now.” 

I’ve seen you work hard. I know you did. 

He can’t help but let the appreciation shine through, and sees the moment Caumano spots it too, how he lowers his hands. 

“We can’t risk that.” He says, I can’t risk that, he thinks. 

“You’ve told me time and time again that my life is worth less than yours, that I’m just a guard, let me be that guard, let me give that to you.” Caumano presses, and there's the thing again, that rebels against his ribs, that hurts so fiercely, he can barely think past the trembling in Caumanos voice. 

“No.” Glorfindel says and Caumano, again, reaches for Glorfindels hands. He lets him. 

“Don’t make me stand aside, don’t let him hurt you just because you’re too proud. I’ve sworn to protect you and I will. I am loyal to you, and only you, until the end.” Caumano says, honesty and desperation so strong, Glorfindels hands start to tremble. 

Part of him wants to say yes, the other part wants to push him away, never hear from him again. 

“Don’t do this.” Glorfindels voice is thin and unsteady as his hands, as the thing inside his chest breaks rib after rib, slowly bending them outwards. 

“Please.” Caumano begs, hands driving up Glorfindels arms to softly frame his face. 

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. 

He doesn’t know what it is that makes it so easy to read him, to see all the love and adoration and fear and valar damned want in Caumanos eyes, but he hates it, hates that he has to feel anything at all. 

“Please.” he repeats, quieter, and the last rib breaks, a sharp pain punching through his chest, when he realizes he has a choice to make. 

I’m so very sorry. 

He raises his hands, laying them onto Caumanos shoulders, not quite managing to keep himself from clinging to his armor, but for Caumano it’s enough. He catches the drift of gaze to his lips, before Caumano leans forward and gives him all his want, fear, adoration, all the valar damned love, and it would be so easy to lose himself in this, to settle for this freely offered heart. 

But this is not the time. 

He kisses him back, just once letting him know - letting himself know - that he’s not lesser, that there is adoration, and fear, and want. 

But no love, Glorfindel thinks, no love.

  And he’s not sure what’s more cruel, to hear Caumano say it out loud, “I love you. Please, I know you don’t, but I love you.” look him in the eye and know that he means it, or to answer: 

“I want you to stay. Stay outside the door, and if he makes it past, stop him.” and lay all his power into it, watch the command settle in his mind, and Caumano walk almost numbly over to the door, helpless against the words that he’s bound to. 

There’s nothing behind his silver eyes as Glorfindel passes him, closes the door behind him, knowing that whatever happens now, Caumano will hear it all.

Chapter Text

He awakes slowly, thick tendrils of darkness around his mind, taking half an eternity to clear enough to hear more than a few distant sounds, to hear voices, even longer to see the soft shine of a silver lamp beside the bed. He feels strangely weightless in the soft sheets and when he finally manages to pry his eyes open, he sees a familiar silhouette beside the bed. The room too feels familiar somehow, but he can’t place it. Elenwe seated on a heavy chair beside the bed, Idril on her chest, is telling enough though. . 

“Hey Laure.” She says, holding tiny Idril in her arm as she reaches over to squeeze his hand. 

His mind swirls with images, memories of touch and sound. He still feels it somehow, still hears words echoing in his mind, all too fragmented to put them together, but dark enough to have him shivering.

He wants to say something, opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He sees Elenwe frown, and shortly after a low humming fills the room as light dances underneath her skin and in her eyes, clear blue, bluer than any sapphire and brighter than any of the lamps. He feels her light softly flow over him and sink into his skin and push the darkness further and further away, until he’s finally free. 

“Thank you.” He says, voice sounding strange to himself and he coughs, massages his throat. 

“You’ve been asleep for a while.” Elenwe says and Idril turns, reaching out with her small, chubby hands, but Elenwe softly pulls her back against her. “Not now, darling, let him rest for a bit longer.” She shushes Idril softly, and Idrils little hands grab for Elenwes soft curls, pull and squeeze them. 

Glorfindel tries to push himself up but as soon as he puts weight on his arms, he realizes he has no energy left, and falls back into the pillows with a huff. He looks at Elenwe, hand outstretched. She eyes him, bright blue eyes full of sympathy, but she stays in her seat. Glorfindels gaze turns questioning as Elenwe shakes her head. 

"No Laurefindele. You can stay there." she says, and places a soft kiss on Idrils golden head before her face holds a much more solemn expression and her voice drops lower. "How could you be this irresponsible? Laure, all the things that could have happened, it was but pure luck Argon found you." She doesn't sound angry but disappointed, which is always so much worse. 

Please, I really tried, I’m sorry. His eyes must have given his thoughts away, Elenwe gasps softly and then reaches for his hand again.

 "Oh Laure." She says, "No, I understand, I'm just worried for you. I always am." 

I know. Please don't be. It's harder to disappoint you when you do. 

"You don't disappoint me. I know how hard you work and what incredible things you accomplished." 

…forgot she knows how to do that. 

"You must be a bit more out of it if you forgot about that, Ancale." She almost laughs, a soft and sad thing. 

Did I really though? And what is it worth if I failed at last? Have you found Narmoner? 

Elenwes face darkens at that and he feels the sadness radiate from her so clearly, even little Idril starts to fuss. "Shh, darling. You're fine, shh. Sleep, now sweetheart." Elenwe says and pats Idrils back softly, the expanses of her pale blue dress like a soft cloud in Elenwes arms. 

The sadness barely dissipates with the affection, still making her eyes shine in a darker blue than usual, and Glorfindel worries why it's there in the first place. 

What has gone wrong? Did he escape? I thought I had him-

" Where is Caumano? How long was I out?" he manages to say finally and his voice is still a long shot from what he's used to, scratchy and rough. He looks around the room, finds it void of people except for the three of them. His eyes almost wander over the window, as it lacks anything worth noticing in the darkness when he realizes, there's darkness. 

The images of the trees crumbling comes to his mind again, the unfathomable horrors of the darkness descending upon them, even the Valar were surprised. Ingwe had pulled their people away before Fingolfin had commanded his own to get to the city, fearing worse things to come. 

And if Elenwes mood is any indication, worse things did come. 

"What is it that you don't want to tell me?" he asks, pushing himself to finally roll over. He feels all but empty. 

"Laure…" Elenwes says and there are tears in her eyes that she tries to blink away, looks up at the ceiling as if it would yield any answer. 

"Elenwe. What. Is. It." Glorfindel grits through his teeth, mostly from the strength he needs to put into rolling closer but also from the tension that's ripping him apart. 

What happened? WHERE IS NARMONER? WHERE IS CAUMANO? 

He shouts it so loudly in his mind, Elenwe hears him regardless. 

"He's gone. We lost him. Caumano is…  he… we found his body on the way to Alqualonde. Feanor, he.. They attacked the coast." 

His body?

  "What do you mean?" he asks, voice failing him. "What do you mean his body? Elenwe? Elenwe!" 

Tears roll over her cheeks, her lashes wet and eyes red, crying silently, trying to keep looking at him while sushing Idril who fusses again. "Narmoner must have done it. Caumano, he…" Elenwe shakes her head. "He was loyal to you until the end, you know that, don't you?" 

It's worse for all the things she doesn't know. That Caumano stood outside the doors when he tried to keep Narmoner from leaving, when he- 

Bile rises in his throat. 

Stop. It's nothing. Don't act like it meant anything. 

He balls his fists, nails biting into his palms. 

Of course Caumano would have gone to finish the mission. One way or another. Or to avenge me. I must have seemed quite dead. 

He squeezes his eyes shut as phantoms of his nightmare rise in the dark corners of the room. 

Caumano. 

He feels the familiar dread crawl up his breastbone, tendrils piercing his heart and lung and he gasps for air, once, twice. 

No, not now. Grieve later. Act now. Narmoner. The coast. 

He blinks the tears away. 

"Elenwe. The coast. They went for the ships?" he asks, breath haggard. 

Elenwe nods, lips pressed into a thin line. 

"The Teleri?" He asks and she buries her face in Idrils hair, shakes her head. 

No. They can't have- They just couldn't have… I failed. Narmoner, he…  I failed. 

This time he doesn't manage to hold back the tears and he tries to bite down the sobs that wreck through his body, his chest contracting against his will, numb pain spreading along his ribs. 

Fuck. Eru-forsaken shit. No. Not this. Not the Teleri. Damn you, Narmoner, damn you. We could have solved this without bloodshed, this wasn't necessary.

"What happened? Where are the others?" He asks instead and Elenwe draws a shuddering breath, looking at him again. 

"It's been… must have been days. I can't really tell without the light changing. But I slept twice since." she says, "Nolofinwe and the others followed Feanor to the shore before we could reach them, where they were fighting the Teleri and they started fighting them, fighting each other and Feanor was losing and they thought the Teleri started it… Narmoners ruse succeeded." 

If he wasn't such a bastard I would have congratulated him for the plan. 

The thought races quietly through Glorfindels mind and he hates himself a little for it, grits his teeth. 

"What's the situation now?" he asks, pushing his arm under him, straining his back and push himself up, only to fall back down into the pillow, face half buried. 

"They are waiting at the coast for Feanaro to return. He and his people took the ships across the sea." Elenwes says and Glorfindel sees the same thought in her eyes as it forms in his own head. "They will want to follow. And we can not stay here." she says, gently, agreeing. 

Valar, how could they possibly hope to follow? Tol Eressea was tied down and would surely not be moved for them. 

"We walk?" He asks and Elenwe shakes her head. 

"We, we walk. You don't. You got nothing to do with this. Keep to Arafinwe, his children decided to go with Fingolfin. Stay here. Or go home. You don't need to leave, you tried everything to prevent this. Go home, your mother was right, you shouldn’t have been brought into this. Your parents miss you, your siblings miss you. Don’t leave them." 

Everything, he thinks bitterly, yes. It just wasn't enough. He shoots her an angry look through his curls. "And dance with the ghost of my past mistakes, of you? Make a fucking party of it? Go back to blind prayers and numb worship? Or get myself a damned pretty wife and make another hundred fucking blond children?" There's more and more venom with each word and he sees Elenwes eyes widen before her clear blue hardens and the air around her begins to thrumm with power. 

" Tulukhastaz. " she says and he knows he overstepped as the very essence of him trembles in the wake of her power. " Do not lash out at me in your own hurt. " she commands, her valarin beautifully musical and for that terrible to hear. 

He closes his eyes, cowering instinctively, then hears Idril cry out and the thrumming vanishes as soon as it started. Glorfindel peaks through his lashes, catches an enraged look from Elenwe, still surrounded by a thin layer of light that smudges the shapes of her to an almost ghostly appearance. 

A strange contrast to the very solid and very loudly crying Idril in her arms. 

Glorfindel closes his eyes again and hits his head against the pillows, but they’re too soft, it doesn’t hurt. Nothing in this far too soft bed hurts. 

I need to get up. Get out of here. 

He uses his frustration as momentum, but even that is not enough to get him out of the blankets or even remotely away from where he lays. 

Fuck. Come on. Move. 

A chair scrapes over the floor beside him and he sees Elenwes light-touched shape stand and move, swaying Idril softly as she sings, her beautiful voice weaving a lullaby of stars in the sky, the gentle winds of the mountains and the mountains bells. A song he knows and a power he recognizes.

Cheater.  

He thinks as he realizes how little he can do to resist her powerful charm, probably even less than little Idril, before he succumbs to it and sleeps.

A hand on his shoulder shakes him awake and he blinks, finding the softly illuminated face of Argon, hair braided back with silver ornaments that accentuate his beautiful silver-blue eyes in the cold light of the lantern he places on the bedside table. He sits on the side of the bed, fully dressed and armed. Glorfindel thinks as he spots the hilt of his ceremonial swords peak through on the side of his cloak. 

Glorfindel frowns as Argon looks at him with sad eyes. 

“I wanted to say goodbye.” He whispers, honest worry on his face and caution in the frail parts of his voice. 

“Goodbye?” Glorfindel repeats, his mind still foggy and sleep-addled, the might of Elenwes spell not yet having faded completely. “Goodbye for what?” 

“We’re leaving. Elenwe didn’t want me to come here, says you need to recover, but I was… I found you. After, you know, the… the thing. I just… I wanted to, you know, make sure you’re fine.” Argon stumbled, eyes pinned on the pillow beside Glorfindels head, shrugging as he holds his own fingers in his hands. 

Glorfindel blinks, tries to put all the spinning wheels of his thoughts, that jump around like mad chicken, back in one neat row. 

She wanted to leave me behind. She lied to Argon. She would have betrayed me. Made my decision for me. 

Old familiar fury rises inside him and he welcomes it like a long lost friend, though he finds himself full of fury often enough and never really has time to miss it. “Arakáno.” He says, clasping his fidgeting hands in his own. His cousin looks at him, eyes wide and expectant. “Please, tell me how long until you leave.” 

“A few hours? I don’t know, time is difficult without the trees. Not so long though. Why?” He answers, instantly stilling with Glorfindels hand on his own. 

Glorfindel sits up, breathing in through his teeth when his back and arms protest, but they follow his will this time.

  I must have slept a while. I was more… sore before. I got this. 

“Accompany me? I fear my darling aunt misunderstood. Or my messenger was merely delayed.” He says, forcing a smile on his face. 

“I don’t understand.” Argon frowns, but stands up and helps Glorfindel stand. 

When did he become taller than me?  

“As if I would stay here while you all leave.” Glorfindel says, realizing just how unsteady his legs were, how much his muscles ache and how far up his back the pain spreads. He winces, then thinks of a melody he hasn’t used in a while, humms it softly. Pale golden light spreads underneath his skin, illuminating the white nightclothes someone put him in. 

Someone put me in. 

The thought races through his head and there are dozens of faces, dozens of servants who would have seen his wounds, would ask why he was so badly hurt so far away from the fight. The rumors alone… 

If they knew what-

No.

Not important. Not anymore. I’m leaving. I’m finally leaving this place. 

He walks down the hallway - Elenwen's guest room in the northern wing, he realizes - through the main castle, white nightgown billowing behind him, to his own rooms, Argon hot on his heels. 

“Laure?” He asks, sounding somewhat insecure as he lingers on the doorstep to Glorfindels lavish rooms, watching him throw clothes and items around. 

What do I pack? What do peasants take on walks? Eru, do I need- Yes, more shirts. The pretty ones? My pants! 

It’s chaos to put just enough items in his bag to still be able to close it, to have utility and a few personal belongings he doesn’t want to or can’t leave behind. He puts the necklace his uncle gave him, diamond in mithril, around his neck, braids his hair and Argon hovers closer, puts golden clasps and ribbons in it while Glorfindel ties layer over layer, beautiful but sturdy clothes, the ones he uses for training with his grandfather, all white and gold, no hue of blue or - valar forbid - red. He snatches a box of jewelry pieces he collected from the table, unwilling to let anyone guess who they were intended for, and stuffs that too in his backpack. He looks over at Argon, a cloak, weapons. Food! A drink! He sends Argon to get him something and he must have really wanted to leave the room, for how quickly and obediently he runs. It leaves Glorfindel a bit perplexed, until he looks in the mirror and for the first time since the day the trees died, sees his face in the mirror. 

I look awful. Pale skin, almost translucent in the glow. And my hair? Valar, did I pack my brush?  

He unpacks some items again and finds he did, infact, pack his brush, and he feels a little proud he remembered something so specific, then very ridiculous. Still, it’s enough to not look at the darkness growing in his chest, and maybe, if he just runs fast enough-

We’re leaving. We’re actually leaving. 

He doesn’t think of saying goodbye to anyone, knowing far to well, should he need to face any of his family again, he wouldn’t be able to make it. And he wouldn’t survive that.

Chapter Text

“Take me to him.” Glorfindel says as he leaves his rooms, the moment he crosses the threshold, feeling as if all his excitement at the prospect of leaving dissipates at once. 

Argon frowns, “You sure?” he asks. “It’s not… pretty.” 

Of course it isn’t. It was Narmoner, of course it isn’t. Fuck. 

“Take me. To him.” 

He's grabbing the glaive his grandfather gifted him on the way out, a pretty piece of weaponry that was nothing more than decorative for a very long time. It's weight is almost an anchor, and when Argon leads him downstairs to Caumano, almost a crutch. 

Your face is so still. 

The thought comes unprovoked and an ugly kind of laugh bubbles up his chest, dying in his throat. His eyes are closed and face turned up, littered with bruises, dark hair braided and placed around his shoulders. Glorfindel can't stop himself from reaching for the hands that are folded on his chest, so terribly pale, partly wrapped in white cloth, hiding whatever wounds lay below. A part of him knows that with all these bruises and other wounds the end wasn’t quick for him, he didn’t go down without a long fight, and knowing Narmoner, he dragged it out longer. 

He's got the armor removed, the thick fabric of the white robe smooth, hiding most of his body, but more bandages peek out under the high, gold-embellished collar. The small golden clasps with Glorfindels insignia shine almost mockingly bright in the dark of Caumanos hair. 

Please. Wake up. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he raises the other hand to the motionless face, half thinking, hoping he’d open his eyes, to see the familiar silver shimmer so full of mirth and snark and sometimes even anger, but never quiet, never still, never cold like this. 

Not like this. Please.  

The ugly thing inside his chest aches, an open wound pulled apart further, searing pain that robs him of all the air in bis lungs, presses against his chest, and Glorfindel feels his legs give away, barely coming to sit on the edge of the stone Caumanos body rests on. 

I'm sorry, he thinks as sobs force their way through his throat and he bows under their wreckage, I'm so sorry. Caumano, please. I'm so sorry. 

It hasn't been long since his chest has suffered other pains and the short song helped little to ease them and little to prevent the pressure. Like heavy hits cracking his ribs, he heaves but no air comes in, and he cries, for the pain, for Caumano, and for all the things that never could be. 

He walks beside Argon to the outskirts of Alqualonde. It smells like smoke and burning everywhere, he hears crying loud as the waves, but the lights of the city are dark, and he sees nothing of it, only the camp beside it. Proud blue banners illuminated by hundreds of lanterns, at least half as much as there are elves, and they’re all armed. He spots blood on some of their clothes and has difficulty to keep his mask up. 

Nolofinwe and the others followed Feanaro to the shore before we could stop them. 

Elenwes voice echoes through his head, knowing full well which parts of their dresses and armors would be tainted with their own blood, and which so very obviously would not. He sees some at the water trying to wash it off, you can't, you can't wash this off. You murdered them and you'll never be able to clean your hands off this. 

Argon looks uneasy beside him and Glorfindel wonders whether he's even seen any of them before they came here. Alqualonde is not far but few windows are illuminated, the great city at the coast is quiet and dark, even the palace at the shore without the glittering lights it used to hold. 

What have you done? 

He feels bile rise up in his throat, and he takes a deep breath, forcing the feeling down as he and Argon near Fingolfins banner, a group of armed guards, silver, the personal crest on the chest, long blue cape, dark haired, so many silver eyes, surrounding Fingolfin who argues with Irime, both head to head, voices sharp but toneless in a hissed fight. 

There's still blood on his boots and gloves. Why is there blood on his boots and gloves? 

He only realizes he's balled his fists when his nails dig into his palms, then stops just five steps away from the guards. No. Cold dread grips his spine and he turns around sharply, hearing Argon follow him hesitantly. 

“Laure? I thought you wanted to see father?” He says, voice thing with insecurity, and Glorfindel stops. 

I have seen enough. 

“I’ve seen him.” He spits at Argon, who looks even more confused and hurt at his ire. 

“What do you mean?” He asks and Glorfindel turns on him completely. 

“Look at his hands, at his boots. What do you think?” he asks sharply. 

“I- he wouldn’t.” Argon frowns, “He must have been attacked.” 

“Yes, surely some low teleri ran at him, him who wears full armor and is surrounded by guards.” Glorfindels voice drips with anger and watches how tears rise in Argons eyes, and a terrible part of him relishes in having hurt him, having hurt someone. But then Argon shoves at him before turning and running, leaving Glorfindel stumbling and alone. 

Fuck. 

It’s happening time and time again while they wait at the shores. He can’t sleep, the air is filled with the mourning songs of the teleri, lanterns are lit through the whole city, a constant reminder of their debt. The songs are too loud and he can’t sleep because whenever he closes his eyes he sees his pale face and he’s drowning, the waves around him crashing in as he tries so desperately to pull Caumano back over the surface, but he sinks so heavily, he can’t do anything and he’s dragged under, swallows water, drowning in darkness and cold. He doesn’t sleep because he can’t, so he stays awake until he faints on the spot, sitting in his tent and suffering the righteous anger of the teleri that lays in their songs.

They're a few dozen days worth of walking north of the last city when they find the first body. Panicked voices calling for the king, guards responding, a slit throat of a lone traveling teleri, shell earrings and silver hair, light blue coat drenched with red blood that pooled underneath him. Glorfindel looks away quickly, finding Fingon and Aredhel close to him, both having followed Fingolfin as well. 

There's someone here. 

He finds the same realization on his cousins faces, murderers. Someone here hasn't stopped. Someone's here, someone who is dangerous. 

The body is buried by the guards as Fingolfin calls them together and making plans is easy, making plans and finding out people's motives is what I do, is what I'm good at. Aredhel becomes the blade at his side, striking without hesitation or mercy when he's found them out. 

We're ten thousands, a hundred thousand, two hundred thousand, so many faces, too little time. 

It's stressful and he barely ever sleeps, half grateful his tasks keep Caumanos face away, half furious that the task continues, that he's not getting a break, that it isn't finally over. 

He's keeping away from Elenwe, hasn’t talked to her since she sent him to sleep, ignored her when she's been at the same meetings as him, the fury at her forcing her decision on him still roaring so loudly.

Chapter Text

The journey up north is long and as they pass settlement after settlement he sees curious eyes following them, sometimes even people joining them. The prospect of new lands to discover seems promising to many of those who had only heard of the horrors of Alqualonde, not seen them, or not heard of them at all. He finds himself angry at those who tag along for an adventure, seeing them merrily ride along where he can’t barely sleep, seeing silver eyes looking at him every time he closes his own. He’s short tempered and more easy to rile up than ever before, lashing out at anyone near him, and not even Aredhel finally decking him after a particular nasty fight makes him stop. The anger is too deeply rooted inside him and he thinks, maybe I am meant to burn too. 

The landscape changes, lush forests giving away to great fields, turning to rocks, turning to snow. 

The first time the ice cracks beneath him he’d almost slips out of surprise. The elves around him stop, watching in fascination as the thin lines grow bolder, racing across the shining blue, like white veins spreading out with ever louder thundering through the quietness of the snowlands. 

For a moment it seems like they all hold their breath, like all sound just stops, and they just stare - then one deafening roll of thunder breaks through as the ice tilts. Glorfindel isn’t near the crack, sees it happen from afar, many hundreds of steps behind him, but the ice below him shakes all the same. 

Then cries fill the air and he watches in horror as a whole group of elves disappears as the ice they stand on just drops. It’s no more than five, maybe ten seconds, then everything around them is quiet again, shock holding all of them hostage. 

If I had been there… and simply dropped… For a moment it doesn’t seem that bad, just letting himself fall and let the growing darkness swallow the pain and make it all cease.

Then the second wave starts and elven voices fill the air again, shouting, crying, lamenting, some running forward to the crack, some slipping and dropping into the rift too, others trying to hold their groups back. 

Glorfindel stands frozen, hand tight around Elenwes, who holds Idrils tiny head pressed tightly against the brim of her cloak. 

“Eru have mercy.” Elenwe whispers, voice so completely empty of her usual power and grace. 

Fingolfins shout pulls him out of his shock and the high king's command has him and his cousins running, all of them reeling in the helpless elves around the rift, leading them around the rift and towards the high king until they’re calm again. 

That night he begins to realize what their doom meant.

Chapter Text

He tries to keep an eye on Ecthelion whenever he’s around, and it’s a blessing and a curse he decided to run with the hunters that gathered around Fingolfin. 

Who would have thought… I wish you would stay with Elenwe, be safe there. 

It’s a blessing because he sees him everytime he leaves and returns. He is with Elenwe after all and Ecthelion, sweet as he is, says goodbye to her whenever he departs and greets her everytime he comes back. It’s a curse because everytime he leaves, he wonders whether he will come back and worries about him until he sees him again. 

But between their suffering people and the lack of coordination, he has little time to miss him, being busy setting up structures and commandos, running between the troops entrusted to him. He tries to keep to Elenwe as often as he can, though he is not quite over the fact that she wanted to leave him behind and he doesn’t like talking to her, not when she used her power against him, almost made a decision for him that wasn’t hers to make.

Idril though he can’t keep away from and she makes up for all the resentment he feels for her mother. She’s like a tiny star, bright full of love, he would never let her feel the animosity between him and her mother, and he tries to see her as often as his other duties allow him to. 

When Ecthelions suddenly remains more and more often around Elenwe, doesn’t leave with the hunters anymore, and the children that started to be entrusted in her care, the mightiest singer of them all, he doesn’t quite know what to make of it. It is still a blessing, knowing he is safer around Elenwe, knowing the chances of him dying on a hunt are lowered dramatically. 

Yet he can’t quite keep the voice out of mind that notes the unfairness of the situation, how ready he is to risk others, others he doesn’t know. And thinks, maybe I am too selfish, wishing him protected above all others. 

Not all people have the same worth, Fingolfins voice sounds loud and clear in his mind, and he knows it. It’s how they’re organizing after all. 

Though finding out who is useful here is quite another task. And finding out who is trustworthy.

He notices some travelers that feel off to him, that have something about them he can’t quite place, and asserting dangers is what Fingolfin wants of him, so he goes to search these people out. Some turn out to be noldo who are simply regretting having followed, others are noldo who haven’t quite understood what they’re actually doing there, some are teleri who are too traumatized to do anything but survive. 

He finds one of those quite early, a silver haired bowman with a small girl; “he's got useful skills” , Glorfindel tells Fingolfin, he’s lost his home because of us. We owe him our protection. The protection for his little one , he thinks to himself. 

Some though, and they’re not many, turn out to be followers of Feanor who hadn’t made it on the boat and most of them turned to Fingolfin, falling in line easily. Few though lie straight in his face, and Glorfindel can’t bring himself to mind when Aredhel comes back with one arrow less soon after. 

What question remains though, to Fingolfin at least, is, is Ecthelion useful? Is he trustworthy? And he knows Fingolfin will ask him that and he will demand clear answers. Which makes Elenwe, and in connection to that, Turgon, the only way to assure his continued place within the closer group. Fingolfin won’t be swayed by Glorfindels affection for him alone. 

I need him prepared should he be questioned. I need to- I can do it myself. Give Nolofinwe a report.

He takes his opportunity when the children crowd around Ecthelion and Elenwe stands at the side, humming softly to keep them calm, though as it seems, they’re quite enamored with the story they’re being told. “Elenwe.” He says simply, coming to stand by her side. “Laurefindele.” She says, very much in the same demeanor, keeping her eyes focused on the gaggle of children. 

He feels Elenwes eyes on him as he watches Ecthelion end the story and the children around him slowly get picked up by their parents or guardians. Idril hugs him before waddling over to Elenwe and him. He kneels down and lets her stumble into his open arms, hugs her tightly as he picks her up. She giggles happily but then turns to be handed to Elenwe and quickly burrows her small face in Elenwes collar, ready to sleep. Elenwes face betrays nothing but her eyes shine with emotion as she carefully opens her coat enough to slip Idril inside, keeping her warm and close to her. Glorfindel grits his teeth, part of him longing so vehemently for the affection of his family where his own pride keeps him from asking for it. Elenwe looks at him as if she knows, her bright eyes calling him and a fool. He looks away and crosses his arms, focuses on Ecthelion. 

He looks so tired.

Don’t do anything you would regret. Elenwes voice is clear inside his head as he feels a painful flick of a finger against his cheek. His head whips around, glaring at her but finding her glaring back. Once again she must have figured out what he is about to do and not approve at all. 

But she is not stopping me either. 

Elenwe shakes her head in disappointment and turns, leaving him alone.

Ecthelion sits on the ground, where he played flute until a few minutes ago, gathering some of the toys the children played with. 

Glorfindel eyes him critically, mentall preparing to strike, hoping his words hurt less than others would, don't hate me too much for it. 

“Now that you can have neither Elenwes nor Turgons attention, you’re turning to the next in line, the darling princess Itarille?” he says, words tasting atrocious on his tongue, barely believing Ecthelion would fall for such a blatant provocation. 

And he doesn't, he seems surprised if all, then shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Believe me, if I had wanted a princess, I could have had one.” he says and Glorfindel meets his eyes for a moment before looking him up and down, raising an eyebrow in distaste. 

“Oh, I really doubt that. You’re blinded by your ambition.” he tells him, you could have. There aren't many princesses to choose from, princes though we got plenty. But is that really something you wanted? He hides behind his mask of superiority, not believing Ecthelion would have changed so much that he has any kind of ambition for power and influence, yet feeling somewhat blindsided by his comment.  

“How can I be blinden if I don’t have that kind of ambition?” Ecthelion asks him as he stands up, and Glorfindel makes another check on his mental list, though the choice of words leaves too much room for interpretation and he feels unsettled by the multitude of possible other ambitions he might have missed, walking two steps further to him, letting some of the light shine through as he crosses his arms in front of him. 

“Then tell me, what exactly is your ambition?” Glorfindel lays some more authority in his voice, seeing Ecthelions hands twitch with surprise or insecurity. 

“To help?” he says, somewhere between question and guess. Give me more than that. 

“Yourself?” Glorfindel taunts, where is your pride? 

“How can raising someone else's children not be selfless?” Ecthelion shoots back, clearly defensive now and Glorfindel sees tension in his hands and jaw. 

Close. 

“I hear you talk about your actions. There are quite enough non selfless reasons to raise someone else's children and none of them are in any way becoming for those who should raise children at all.” he says, raising his chin higher, hands clasped behind him, antagonizing him with his opposing body language. 

“Speak plainly, what are you accusing me of?” There's anger in Ecthelions voice and Glorfindel almost smiles, catching a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

There you are. Come, show me your anger. “If I speak more plainly I think I don’t need to worry about any capability for greater ambition.” Glorfindel says blatantly, eyeing him and letting out a short, ugly laugh. 

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you.” Ecthelion shoots back, please let it be true. Please, be as good as I think you are. 

“Then try harder, I find it rather difficult to believe that you’re conveniently here, in the middle of what we’re holding most dear, with nothing to show but barely passable music and a few stories.” It almost physically hurts to talk so badly about the things he admires so much about him, his talent and softness, and his strength, forgive me. 

“How are these children what you hold most dear if you never come to visit them?” Ecthelion surprises him and Glorfindel stills, tilts his head before he squares his shoulders a little and advances on Ecthelion. 

“My actions are not up to debate, you’re the intruder in this safe circle. And I will not tolerate any danger to them.” he says, voice dangerously low and the threat open in the air between them. 

He sees the light of himself reflected in Ecthelions dark eyes, “How can I be an intruder if I was invited?” he asks, spite finding its way into his voice. 

The next words come to his mind without really thinking, “Feanaro too was once invited and welcomed in Alqualonde, and you know where that got us.” and he can't resist the anger that surges up, that makes the ice hut around them shimmer brightly in his light. He catches a fraction of fear in Ecthelions eyes, but there's disappointment and hurt too. 

“Do you really think I could ever harm those under my protection?” he asks, a lot more quiet, not yet taken the wind out of his sails, but not feeding into the flame either. 

“Have you ever given me indication to believe otherwise? Little has been seen or heard of you, other than your music at court.” Glorfindel lies, leaning back away from him, please, you're doing great. 

“How is it my fault that you never paid attention to me before.” Ecthelion replies a bit exhausted, Eru, if only you knew, i couldn't have paid more attention to you. Still do. Lying to him, even in suggestion, feels terribly wrong. 

“Was there anything to pay attention to?” 

“I’ve had Elenwes favour for years. If me being close to her is a problem, then yes.” If only you knew. 

“She is the brightest and best of us, with a soft heart for outsiders. Do not confuse appreciation with pity.” It's a low blow and he's glad Ecthelion seems to know it too, far too little insecurity, not even closely behaving like liars would. I just wish Nolofinwe would accept it without this. Without me having to hurt him. 

“Clearly you’re the one confused, when she sees use in me where you do not.” Ecthelion says and Glorfindel huffs mockingly. 

“Like I said: pity. What are your little stories and music even worth? Do you really think you're making any difference here? That you’re doing something hundred others could not?” And there's a little bit in there he's actually curious about. 

“You’re right, many others could do what I’m doing. But these others aren’t here, so my presence is making a difference.” Ecthelion says and Glorfindel couldn't have hoped for a better answer, a more evenly tempered voice. 

“There would easily be ten others ready to take your place, should you take even half a step out of line. Or prove yourself more useful otherwise. You learned to build, did you not?” he says, more to check off another point on his list of information than anything else. 

“I am building, it’s just that I’m better at this.” Ecthelion answers, a little defensive, and Glorfindel can't just let it slide, has to try for another button. 

Where are your other sensitive points? “If your talent with building is even below your musical skills, one would not be surprised your father had no use for you in a city that only grows bigger.” he throws at him, curious to see his reaction. 

“What did I ever do that you hate me so? I’m sure these children care little for the quality of my song as long as I’m there for them.” Ecthelion says and the distress breaks through his crumbling poise and his cracks with hurt that pierces straight through Glorfindels heart. 

Fuck. 

If anything it made him clear he'd never want to see this face, hear this voice of him ever again. Forgive me, I never intended to hurt you. I hadn't- I had to know. Hadn't known how much it hurts you. I want you around. I just need to know how to trust you. He reigns in the light and power, the aggression fading from the air. 

“They do need protection and care, in which neither of our feelings matter. It’s not about what you did, but what is to be feared of everyone new. Too much blood has been spilled to not be careful. Letting our guard down is a luxury we can not afford here, where not only the environment is trying to kill us, but also danger from within our own ranks lurks.” he tells him, letting his hands dangle beside him, shoulders relaxed. 

“What danger are you talking about?” Ecthelion frowns, obviously confused about the change. 

“You will be informed when deemed necessary.” Glorfindel tells him, almost gritting his teeth. Please stay close, show the others you're trustworthy. 

“I will be informed? What changed your mind?” Ecthelions face is filled with too many emotions racing across at once, though confusion stays above them all. 

I know you are. Please, show them. I want you here. “It’s rather what didn’t. Do you own a weapon? Try not to leave it too far behind. You’re expected to defend this circle, should it come to it.” he says, hands itching to reach out and seek comfort, ease the expression of his face, but he can't. He stays where he is, one step away, and tries to convey his approval with the hint of a smile and gentleness in his voice. 

“I will gladly do so, yet the thought of bringing a weapon here makes me uneasy.” Ecthelion says, you're far too good for this, for any of us. He can't quite stop the image of him, armored and armed, at his side, can't quite stop imagining the familiarity. 

“You were not properly trained?” he asks, already knowing the answer well enough. You were, I saw you. 

“I was trained, but reality has proven to be different.” Ecthelion admits and Glorfindel hides his hands in his cloak, frowning at Ecthelion when he remembers what he heard about hunters dying in the maws of strange creatures. Eru I hope you didn't know them, that you'll never come near them again. 

“I heard about the accident with the hunters, my condolences. Find me tomorrow, you must under any circumstances be able to defend and hold your ground.” he says, looking for acceptance in Ecthelions beautiful eyes. 

“That was no accident. Morgoth's creatures are ruthless. But I have dealt with ruthlessness before, I can manage.” Ecthelion says and Glorfindel finds little of what he's searched for, but instead there's hurt and anger, and it pulls unkindly on Glorfindels heart. 

“I know. And merely managing will not be enough. There are few properly trained warriors here, far less than we need, as we do not know what lies ahead and what challenges we will face.” he tells him, thinking about their dwindling numbers and the rising threats, please, let me keep you safe. As much as I can, please, let me keep this little happiness. 

“We have had so much loss already, I don’t want to be the cause of more.” Ecthelion says, and there's something in his voice that shakes Glorfindel to the core, the line of implications is there immediately, but everything in him struggles against it, no, you couldn't, not you. Not with your kind heart and soft hands, your stories and songs and terribly inconvenient sense of moral and fairness, your loyalty- he shakes the thought off, puts it in a box in the far back of his mind. It's just insecurity. It's just that, only that. 

“You won’t be. There’s no place better guarded than in Elenwes sight. Keep to your flute and stories. There are others with stronger hands and weaker hearts.” he tries to tell him putting all his good faith in it and he can't keep it down anymore, reaches out to grasp his elbow. 

“But you’ve just said this wasn’t enough.” Ecthelion glances down and back up and his eyes are troubled. Please don't try to argue on that, you've passed. Valar, I just want you safe.

“And you’ve proven your loyalty. Loyalty that must always be rewarded with safety.” Glorfindel says, squeezing his elbow, loyalty will always be rewarded. Let me, please, let me do that for you. Eru, what I wouldn't give to have your loyalty, to reward you- 

“I don’t deserve such kindness.” Ecthelion says, looking away, focusing on the snow beside them, sounding terribly unconvinced. Glorfindel breathes in sharply, anger surging up again, against himself. Kindness? A mercy maybe that you hadn’t gone through this with Nolofinwe, but not kindness. No. This is not.

“Do not. Question my judgement.- It isn’t.” he finds himself saying, pulling on Ecthelions elbow until he looks up at him and Glorfindel holds his gaze for a moment before he nods, I mean it. 

And Ecthelion returns the nod, but his eyes scream everything but acceptance. 

Stop, please stop looking like that. 

The anger and fury is quickly followed by the overwhelming need to get away from him and he drops his hand before he turns away to leave the ice hut with a brisk stride, almost as if the quietness he leaves behind chases him. His heart pounding in his chest, he hesitates at the small exit and throws a glance over his shoulder, finding Ecthelion looking lost enough to rip the floor from beneath his feet too, and Glorfindel flees. 

Fingolfin accepts his retelling of the conversation, Elenwe doesn’t look at him.

Chapter Text

They tend to set camp for a while whenever they get too slow, collecting supplies, sleep in ice-houses Penlod constructs. Fingolfin uses these times to hold meetings with those in command, which leaves him with Idril to care for, as Elenwe and Turgon are both busy. While he’s somewhat glad that he wasn’t given any official responsibility, he feels left out for all the work he does. Finding spies and keeping the morale up with his songs was nothing easily done, and that Fingolfin kept him out of meetings left a bitter taste in his mouth, as if his efforts didn’t matter. 

The only upside to this is spending time with Idril, who is still terribly enamored with Ecthelion, which gives him the perfect opportunity to simply sit close to him and imagine it was only them three for very different reasons. 

He’s got a beautiful voice, Glorfindel thinks as he listens to him telling Idril yet another story, half wondering whether he made it up or whether he just doesn’t understand it because he continuously gets sidetracked by admiring the way his mouth moves, or his soft eyes regard Idril so full of adoration and care. 

How do you do this? Hold your heart so wide open for those in need of it? Idril thrives under your care, he thinks before his heart skips a beat. I just wish you would look at me too. 

But Ecthelion never really looks at him like that, something has changed since their days in Valinor, when he would be so obviously flattered by his presence and attracted to him. 

I wonder whether he too left someone behind. For a moment he thinks of Caumano, pale face, blue lips, open eyes- 

I hope you will heal, he says in thoughts, others come to him unrequested, I would hold you through it. Share whatever weight with you, share mine if you’re willing.

But then he catches an insecure glance from Ecthelion and he realizes he stared for too long. He gives him an encouraging smile, before looking away. If you’d just- what is it that you’re scared of? He finishes the story and Glorfindel notices the dark circles under his eyes, and when Idril asks for another, Glorfindel scoops her up. 

“Maybe later, darling. Let us go look what your parents are doing, yes? Maybe get something to eat? We can come back after sleeping.” She looks disappointed but lets Glorfindel press a kiss to her forehead before she looks at Ecthelion and reaches for him. 

“I want to say goodbye!” She exclaims and Glorfindel shoots a questioning look at Ecthelion, whose face screams unease. “I want a hug!” Idril exclaims, tired stubbornness creeping into her voice. 

Glorfindel sets her down again and she runs over at Ecthelion who kneels just in time. Idril jumps around his neck, holding on tightly, “Goodbye, Ektelion!” Idrils lets go but doesn’t turn back, instead she asks, “Will you marry me sooner when I bring you food? Mama is always happy when Papa gives her food.” 

Glorfindel blinks, will you what now?, torn between laughing about the funny expression on Ecthelions face and crying out over the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“Come here, darling. Food is not really suited for proposal.” Glorfindel scoops up Idril again, trying to smile hard enough at her to lose her frown, “If it was, how many spouses would the cookes have?” It’s a just as ridiculous notion, but it’s enough for Idril to ponder while he shoots Ecthelion a silent “Get some rest.”. 

Idril thinks loudly and starts to count for a while until she’s getting all the numbers wrong and her eyes go big, glancing up at Glorfindel, “Many! So many!” she says and Glorfindel couldn’t keep the adoration out of his face even if he tried. They look for Elenwe and Turgon but find them still busy in the meeting with Fingolfin, and when Idril starts to fuss he takes her to one of the cooks, gets some food for them and takes her back to her parents tent. He helps her eat and has a few bites himself before he lays down, curls around Idril and sinks into a light slumber. 

Idril kicks him awake a few times, but after the second time a finger lands in his nose, he hears a light laughter and opens his eyes to find Elenwe lying on the other side of the tent, eyes full of mirth and adoration. 

“Where’s Turukano?” Glorfindel asks. “Talking to scouts. I just wanted to nap quickly before I’ll try to dissipate the storms ahead and heal some wounds. Can you take care of Itarille a little longer?” She asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, of course.” He yawns and tired tears shoot into his eyes. Elenwe gives him a compassionate look, lays a hand on his cheek and he feels some of her strength, ancient, thrumming light, seep into him, making him realize just how tired he was. 

“Sleep.” She says and Glorfindel wouldn’t have known whether it was a command or not, his eyes close all the same. When he wakes again it’s to a small hand on his cheek and the unhappy face of a small princess. 

“Wake up.” She whines, “I’m hungry.” He huffs, closing his eyes again.

“Yes, just a moment.” She’s out of his arms in a second, standing in the tent, hands at her hips in a mimicry of her father. 

Glorfindel shoots her a smile and pushes himself up, half surprised that he doesn’t feel that tired at all. His back is a little stiff from being curled around Idril, but that dissipates as soon as he moves. He carries Idril to get some food and afterwards she demands to see Ecthelion, who is a bit more difficult to find. It takes long enough for Idril to fuss again, and Glorfindel starts talking to her about the far lands they try to reach, and the great lake at which the first of their people woke up. He’s just reached the part where the great hunter finds the eldar when Idril spots Ecthelion, crying his name loudly. 

She calls him away from building another ice-house, blind to the irritation and the unease and the shift of atmosphere around them, or even the curious glances of the elves. She almost jumps out of his arms to run up to him, demanding to be carried back to Glorfindel, who tries to radiate confidence, “Ektelion, if you would follow me.” He says, loudly enough for the people around them to hear and file it away as a command. The look of unease lessens only slightly, but he follows. 

They’re returning to the spot of the previous session, only this time Idril doesn’t want to let go of Ecthelion, claiming “He gives way better hugs!”. I wouldn’t know. Glorfindel wants to say, but not nearly as much as he’d love to find out for himself. He plays the graceful loser of this competition and continues the story about the great hunter. 

Ecthelion looked tired from the beginning and Glorfindel can’t stop wondering whether he actually slept, though he tends to vote no, when he sees his eyes fall shut, and he doesn’t move for a while. Idril doesn’t notice, enraptured by his retelling, that Ecthelion sways to the side, but doesn’t mind either when Glorfindel shifts closer to them, lets Ecthelions shoulder rest against his own, lowering his voice a little. It’s nervewracking to keep a hand on his back to keep Ecthelion upright, a half hug he is entirely unaware of. He’s keeping his focus on Idril, as little as she is she notices quickly when his attention isn’t on her, and he hasn’t got much opportunity to bask in the happiness the very simple fact that Ecthelion rests against his shoulder brings him. That you feel safe enough to do so.

He tells Idril the rest of the story, but little more than an hour later she pulls on his sleeves, quiet but insistent, “That’s enough stories! I want music, can we wake Ektelion?” 

“No, darling, please let him rest a little longer, he’s been working very hard.” Glorfindel tells her, cupping her face with one hand, booping her tiny nose. 

Idril pouts anyway, “But I want Ektelion to play the flute and sing with me.” she says, a little louder, sounding a bit unhappy, and he boops her nose again, she catches his hand and pulls on it, attention momentarily caught by the shimmering embroidery of his sleeve. 

She must have sounded unhappy enough to wake Ecthelion, who looks at him with sleepy eyes, and Glorfindel feels his heart skip a beat at the sheer softness of his face, relaxed and unaware, even if for a second.

I want to see this more often. 

He spots the moment he becomes aware and panic surges up in his stomach, no, please, stay, please, and he lets some of his adoration into his smile, “You can rest a while longer, the princess has not yet completely grown tired of her second favorite entertainer.” He says, rest, you look so tired. He sees the thoughts flicker behind his eyes. Please, trust me, races through his mind and he looks down at Idril who pulls insistently and he raises his voice to the tunes of her favorite song, and Idril looks up, frowns as she always does, but then smiles and Glorfindel feels his heart swell with adoration as she snuggles further against Ecthelion.

I want this more often. He reaches out to smooth her hair and when his eyes flicker back up to Ecthelions face he finds his eyes closed. The warmth from his chest spreads further and bleeds into his song. Thank you. 

It’s a little later, after Idrils eyes dropped and she snuggled against Ecthelions chest, sleeping soundly, that Glorfindel finds himself longing. Do you feel lost too? He wonders, studying the dark circles under his eyes, you look so terribly exhausted, you don’t sleep either, do you? 

His hair is so far from the elegant styles he used to wear, just hastily braided, many strands escaping and falling into his face. He’s raised his hand already before he’s noticed it, longing to reach out and take care of it. 

But- but that’s my fault, isn’t it? You must have seen what happened at the harbor. You’re so soft, not made for any of these horrors. His hand hovers over the skin of his temples and it would take so little to brush these strands away, but I might wake you. And you would not welcome that, would you? You never speak out of turn and you’re always so very proper, I don’t even know whether you even like me. I already ask so much of you with this, don’t I? Valar. 

He sighs quietly and drops his hand, pulling another blanket up and over their legs up to Idril instead. 

No, I can’t ask this of you when I took your peace from you in the first place. 

It’s a heavy weight that settles in his chest and pulls on his heart and for a moment he feels the tears collect in the corners of his eyes.

I’m far too tired too. Eru, stop crying, stop fucking crying. 

He breathes in and pushes the welling sadness back down.

Stop crying, this is all your fault anyway.

Chapter Text

He’s walking beside Elenwe and Turgon, who carries Idril underneath his cloak, only the top of her curly hair showing underneath Turgons chin, making him seem as if his whole chest has swollen up, it’s adorable and absolutely hilarious . 

Elenwe has one of her hands shoved through the openings of Turgons cloak, no doubt holding his hand as they walk. 

I wish I had someone who would be by my side like that, he thinks wistfully. Caumano would have walked beside you like that, a more bitter part of his mind offers and he huffs, kicking the snow in front of him before he drops back a little, suddenly feeling way too irritated to watch Elenwe and Turgon be this happy despite everything that’s happening around them. 

You could have had this, this is on you, the bitter part continues before he can shove it down, he’s dead. It doesn’t really matter anymore. Too much maybe, too much uncertainty. We got to look ahead. 

He does so and spots Aredhel in her vibrantly blue cloak, red and blue ribbons in her hair. 

Where did you get those from?  

She sweeps over the snow, bow in her hand until she reaches him, “Second train reports. Look for the one with the green gloves and the shell necklace. Has left after last time we camped, must have joined here. Someone remembered him.” She says quietly as she falls in place beside him, and Glorfindel looks around, seeing her hunters weave through the walking eldar, unnoticeable to the untrained eye that they move in formation, that they check every person they pass, a living net filtering through. 

Shell, a trophy? A hunter of his own kind? We got the teleri with the child with us. Is he looking for him? Has he murdered others in the second train? 

“Game?” he asks, tapping her bow. 

Aredhel nods, “Three. Hadn’t connected it until shortly. Icicle.” 

Icicle. Single person single target, deadly force, high alert, collect possible target and shelter. 

“Understood.” 

Aredhel moves quickly and Glorfindel lets himself fall back further, trusting Aredhel and her hunters to scout the leading part of their train. He slows down, letting his eyes wander, checking hands and walking patterns, identifying different groups, many faces he’s seen countless times in the last centuries, others he’s never seen before. The further to the back he drops the less faces he recognizes, one though he would know anywhere. 

He spots Ecthelion walking with his big backpack and other supplies and slowly drifts in his direction, not disturbing the flow of elves around them. He seems almost startled when Glorfindel falls into step beside him, but Glorfindel reaches for his arm, squeezes it once. 

“I know you said you’re unwilling to…” he makes a small gesture with his fingers, mimicking a swinging sword in the small space between them. “Go find Elenwe, stay close to her. Green gloves, shell necklace, call out if someone like that comes near you. If you see the girl with the silver hair or her guarding, take them with you.” He says quietly, only watching Ecthelion out of the corner of his eye, focused on the elves walking around them, no chance to study whatever emotions and thoughts flicker through his eyes. 

He only nods after a moment and Glorfindel squeezes his arm again before he drops back, slowing down again, searching for the teleri and the hunter. 

He frowns a bit when he sees Ecthelion speed up and inadvertently crossing some others paths, disrupting their patterns, maybe I should teach him, he thinks for a second before abandoning the thought again. 

No, this is nothing I want him involved with. 

It takes a little longer to spot their silver haired teleri and the small bundle of his sister that he carries close to his chest. He drifts over to him and he spots Glorfindel quickly, holds his gaze for a second while drawing his hands near his knives. 

Easy there, Glorfindel thinks and pushes the mood outward, “Hunter, you’re needed at the front, her highness Elenwe needs your assistance.” He says, voice laced with calm. 

“It’s no time for hunting.” He says skeptically.

“It is council she seeks to prepare the next hunt, other hunters referred to you.” Glorfindel tries, easing him with an approving nod. 

“Council, from me?” He remains wary and Glorfindel lets his eyes drift, hiding the searching in a show of indifference, shrugging. 

“You are good with your weapons, are you not? And good at staying undetected?” Glorfindel says and the remainder seems to do it. 

“If it’s really necessary…” He trails off but moves quicker, he too disrupting the flow of the others and Glorfindel lets himself be carried by the drift and weaving of paths, following the hunter in some distance while keeping his eyes open for the one they’re searching for, and his gamble pays off. 

About halfway back he spots another disturbance, a noldo with a thick braid around his head, a grim face and green gloves that are suspiciously darker at the fingertips. 

Found you. 

He watches him for a moment, he’s taking quite the direct route towards him. It’s little effort to make his way with the flow and intercept the noldo, making him run into him. They stumble against each other and Glorfindel grabs into his coat to keep himself upright, the noldo directly reaching for him to pull him up, score. 

He looks up at the man, spots the irritation behind his eyes as he finds himself confronted with Glorfindel and his best impression of surprise. 

“Apologies, your highness.” The man says after a moment of Glorfindel making pretty eyes at him, “I had not seen you.” 

Glorfindel smiles, “Apologies accepted. Who are you? Are you one of the guards? I was just looking for one, I’m a bit tired and would appreciate the support very much.'' His voice is sweet and musically, subtle power flowing underneath, only supported by the appreciative touch of his fingers on the mans arm. 

The man blinks, looking somewhat surprised but he’s still got his hands, green gloves, blood stained fingertips, on Glorfindels elbows. “Of course, your highness.” He says, eyes glazing over a little, and Glorfindel tucks his arm under the mans, leaning onto him a little more than necessary. 

“You’re quite strong, are you not?” He asks him, and it’s easy to fall into a rhythm of easy compliments and questions, his eyes glazing over further until Glorfindel suggests him to take them to the side of the train, away from prying ears as he listens so enraptured to the man's tellings. 

He spots the signs of Aredhels hunters and by the edge of their formation Aredhel herself. 

The man barely realizes how they drift further and further away from the train, not until Aredhel steps in front of him and the soft melody Glorfindel had woven around him comes to an abrupt end, the man's eyes wide with surprise that quickly turns into fear and anger. He’s reaching for his sword but Aredhel is quicker, her arrow piercing his throat before he’s managed to grab it. 

Glorfindel jumps away from him, barely avoiding the blood splattering on his clothes. He throws Aredhel an annoyed look, she raises her eyebrow at him in return, looking rather unimpressed. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, "Not that I don't trust your accuracy, but couldn't you have waited half a moment longer, when I wasn't in distance for all that blood anymore?" he says, or to see any of this? I don't like corpses, they creep me out.

Aredhel doesn't even grace him with an answer, but steps forward to retrieve her arrow and take the weapons off of him, handing them to one of her hunters.