“Ecthelion,” Glorfindel walked towards him and sat down. His warm hands, calloused from swords and protecting their lord’s kin, reached out to cup Ecthelion’s frigid fingers. Warm digits stroked over the other’s, meshing life into them. If Ecthelion looked up he would have seen those sad green eyes—the color of broken grass—stare at him.
“Ecthelion,” he said once more, leaning closer to catch the gaze of walnut wood. His breath fanned over the other ner’s face. Freckles like wood shavings dotted Glorfindel’s cheeks, brought out by his time under the sun.
Still Ecthelion looked away.
How hard was it for Glorfindel to see that he didn't want to talk? How hard was it to see that Glorfindel had come back better—glowing like a warm star—and risked his life for the world while Ecthelion rotted in the estate they gave him. He felt like a slime growing on the rocks of his pond, searching without eyes for the long gone sun.
If Ecthelion was a algae then Glorfindel was a tree as always. Golden-white magnolias and weeping willows with their branches blown by the wind. Beautiful; Shelter. Useful; Beloved. Ecthelion dreamed of shade, of sitting with strong bark supporting his weight and smelling the sweet flowers dropped in his lap. He always woke up in the freezing waters of his ponds, missing the warm he leeched from those dreams of rising suns and bell-like laughter.
Those rough fingers reached forwards to him, as if to trace his cheek or turn his face to make him look, but flinched and stopped. Glorfindel sighed. He didn't leave but instead adjusted his cape and finery to sit next to Ecthelion. What a contrast they made! Glorfindel was draped in embroidery and drowning in soft fabrics and Ecthelion in a soaked nightgown. He had sleepwalked once more and woke up drowning.
Both sat there as the sun rose further and painted the landscape around them a golden shade. Grass perspirated, dew grew and water dripped down Ecthelion's hair. Neither broke the silence though Glorfindel fidgeted around on the wooden bridge. Below them the waters of the pond lapped at their feet. The sun reflected off the rocks, creating a net of light that captured all below.
Ecthelion wanted to buy some fish to see swimming around when he practiced his flute, but the sleep walking cut that dream down. He didn't want to wake up to cold mouths nipping at him for food. The nightmares of the trees already put him in a bad mood. Glorfindel sighed once more. Light from the sun had hit his face, illuminating his hair and highlighting the freckles She so adored. Arien must be a cruel maia to dance all over Glorfindel and infuse him with her light while Ecthelion must be content to watch, to leave as much of a mark as the wind on him.
In terrible Morgoth-ian nightmares Ecthelion thought of plucking leaves and flowers off that tree and adorning himself. Then everyone would see the physical claim he had. He dreamed of breaking apart that tree and licking up the amber sap dripping down from it's wounds, resin overflowing his mouth and staining his teeth. Then the tree would remain within him and couldn't leave. But it was just a tree; It didn't belong to Ecthelion, it didn't belong to anyone but the world
"Well," the living representative of the Valar and renowned warrior spoke out loud, "this is a lovely area...I like the jewelweed. They seem so bright; the orange-y red always reminded me of embers. I know your colors are silver and blue, ash and phlox, but I think it would look nice in your hair…forgive me for the comment."
The warrior paused once more, turning to see if he caught the other's eye. Ecthelion jerked his head away like he was burned, but then returned to facing the neutral direction of forward. Glorfindel's green eyes were so soft and his voice so choakingly low, that someone could have captured it and created from it a poison that instantly stopped someone's heart. Ecthelion's foolish fëa told him that he would drink it in a heartbeat. Death be damned. Mandos could judge him for his crimes once again.
"You've taken good care of them. I..er... haha." An awkward laugh echoed and was soon drowned out by the birds beginning their mating songs and the distant chimes Ecthelion had draped his home in. Glorfindel reached out to gently thumb along a petal of the jewelweed, rubbing along it in the same manner he once did to the back of Ectehlion's hands after battles when they sat next to each other, like this moment. No, closer. Close enough that Ecthelion could smell the heat radiating from Glorfindel's fëa. "It used to be so easy to speak to you, I was half your mind and you mine, but now it's...it's like we've started where we were thousands of years ago."
He went on to ramble about propagation and Rivendell and how it was supposedly funny that the plants that were the same at their core could become drastically different. He said something about how it's experiences had changed it. Once he made a cut from a mulberry tree in Imladris that was as hardy as an anvil—having survived freezes and fires—and moved it to a different pot, thinking it would grow as strong as the original. It died. Glorfindel flung theories why out to the void of Ecthelion's presence. Maybe it was the new soil that shocked it, or he needed to give the sapling more attention, or he let it hide in the darkness or...
"Perhaps it had a defect, a sickness, within it, the branch you had taken from, and that inherent problem the first tree survived killed it" A raspy voiced answered. Ecthelion squeezed out the last of the water lost in his dark hair, strands changing back into their charcoal color under the sun. The water droplets hit his skin like arrows, shocking him with their coldness. Had he truly sat out here long enough that he no longer felt frigid? In fact he felt so warm under the rising sun, like he had stepped off the Helacaraxë once again.
Glorfindel looked at him, a certain expression settling his face. "I don't think so" was all he whispered.
He leaned closer to the other ner, slowly moving himself until they were a few spaces apart. The distance from nearly on other sides of the small bridge to a few paces was the length of Beleriand to Aman. Ecthelion recoiled slightly. Something was caught in his throat as Glorfindel continued to stare at him. It was something warm, burning even, and brough forth the prickling of tears behind his eyes. But he didn't cry. He only squeezed his eyes shut.
"Thel, I brought with me another cutting. We can keep it alive this time"
Did Glorfindel know how easy it was to love him? To invite him to see the secrets lying deep within himself? Ecthelion wanted to shout. Loving him was like sitting under a tree on a hot day; the act of breathing, soaking in heat while nature rolled on by. It was simple. So straightforward it was deadly. Eru, Ecthelion wanted to give in but he couldn't. That, Glorfindel didn't understand.
Yes, they were both lords now. Yes, Ecthelion was a ancient hero in his own right. Yes, they had no greater cause to devote themselves to. Yes, they had time and space. Yes, the wars of the world were done. Yes, there was no more of the old excuses that he shot whenever Glorfindel had gotten into these soft eyed moods. However, that didn't address the fact that Glorfindel has been made into something holy. He had a reputation and life that he would love waiting for him if he followed that path. Even if he rejected it, there was a thousand more threads he could follow; Turgon's kin, his mother, Yavanna's garden's, anything but the mire and muck of Ecthelion's ponds. Those freezing bodies of waters had no nutrients for Glorfindel to grow in. They'd shock him and all that'd he turn into was a withdrawn withered shell of himself.
Ecthelion had to stop him, for his own good. He should've kicked Glorfindel out long ago, ran him away from his property screaming and shouting. Then he wouldn't have gotten the idea of staying.
(He was scared. The great hero Ecthelion was, is, a coward. It didn't make sense. Glorfindel... Glorfindel was the sun, forgive him for this blasphemy, and Ecthelion was what? A pebble being ground down by the waters of time. A bird plucked of all it's feathers living in the sewers. A coward who can't give him everything he deserves.)
Glorfindel touched his hand, gently trying to uncurl Ecthelion's clenched grip. He said nothing as he worked. Slowly finger by finger his hand loosened. Ecthelion didn't fight him. They had ended up with Glorfindel twisted toward him, his face breaths away from Ecthelion's own. Despite the wars and battles and the fights, Glorfindel's lips looked soft. His face was unworried. Those green eyes that Ecthelion had avoided earlier were focused on his ink-stained hands, observing every mole and scar he kept. Once again his traitorous heart sunk it's words into his head.
"What if you kissed Glorfindel? What if you grasped his hands in your own and traced over every new cut and bruise he had gained in Middle Earth? And what if you loved him? With the little you had? Would it really disappoint him, when this is what he's been waiting for since you had first held hands? When this is all you’ve wanted since you first heard his laughter?"
"And how warm his embrace would be! How whole it would make you feel! Your telperion hands intertwining with his laurëlin branches. In between your mouth and his the fruit of the sun is swallowed, its juice dripping down the gap between your lips. His are soft, rose like and petal textured. The flower of the moon is braided in his hair; your hair. His hands were swimming in your ink, calluses tugging on dark strands. You touched those golden locks, their liquid softness bent to your hands and accepted the silver flowers."
"How bright and holy it would be! How written in the theme of fate you would be!"
But Glorfindel is not Laurëlin. Ecthelion is marred for thinking he could be close to Telperion… “But isn’t it good to dream?” a part of him screams. This part that remembered drawing out the pipelines for Gondolin and the laughter of the other lords. That Ecthelion once splashed the Lord of the Golden Flower with water for his comments on a broken fountain. The ner chased after his future, crawling and pulling himself up until he was surrounded by their Gondolin. Nights were spent playing his flute while his friend quietly watched. His ‘Thel traced the countless freckles adorning his face with quiet happiness.
No. Dreaming for greater heights is what led to Morgoth, what led to Fëanor, what led to the fall of their dear Gondolin. Ecthelion can’t be like that. He can't do that Glorfindel.
But oh, Ecthelion wanted to fall. He wanted to burn with the warmth of Glorfindel’s embrace baked into his flesh, wanted Glorfindel to be the fruit bursting between his lips. Ecthelion wished to hug Glorfindel like the soft embrace of death and drag him down with himself. Into the cold waters of his ponds the two of them would go, sharing the last warmths of their fëa's. The world would scream because they had lost their sun on Arda, but callus Ecthelion can't hear their cries over his joy. Glorfindel had chosen the pebble, the beaten bird, the coward and was content with his freezing kiss. Glorfindel shucked the duty that had weighed him down like golden chains, the duty he had picked up once again after his rest for the Valar, the reward he was owed; he had damned it all for Ecthelion.
This desire was monstorous, wasn't it? Ecthelion was fine alone. He could wait forever and watch on as Glorfindel grew bright with joy and all the love he was due and find those who’d help him grow great towering trees in his garden. Yet, Ecthelion wanted more still, and Glorfindel had offered his heart up on a plate. And Ecthelion was still deciding if he was going to take a bite? How pathetic is he.
"Thel," A low voiced Glorfindel inquired, "I'm willing to wait out here for however long it will take for you to respond to me—it's a beautiful place—but uhm, I'd like it if you'd look at me. I have been dreaming of seeing you and your pine brown eyes again"
He laughed once again at himself. Ecthelion wonder what he found so funny. His many many tries at dragging Ecthelion out of his shell, of coaxing a response was commendable. The devotion he had would have caused anyone else less finicky and less difficult, and altogether better at giving themself what they wanted, to have sworn a marriage oath already. He was wonderful and determined. Ecthelion wanted to tell him that and that for all of his efforts he has broken through Ecthelion's own cold facade many times. The dear ner in front of him brought out 'Thel from Lord Ecthelion of the fountain. That was worth a thousand praises.
Glorfindel continued to ramble on, something Ecthelion adored about him and something that also annoyed him greatly. "Erestor was going to ban me from the library if I kept on bothering him for access to an old portrait of us, the one in Idril's office, to see you. Thank Eru he didn't! Though I'll admit I did enjoy enraging him. I wasn't looking at the photo for any uncouth reasons—Egalmoth and Turgon were in it, ew—I...I simply wanted to remind myself of what you looked like. I had to remember that someone knew me a Laurë and not Glorfindel the Balrog-slayer"
Oh, Ecthelion had forgotten Laurë. Not forgotten, buried. Ecthelion killed the living ner who loved cared for him. Laurë of Now and Gondolin and Nevarest and the Helacaraxë was as irritating as he was kind. The same shade giving canopy dumped pollen that tangled in hair. The sap used to stop leaks stuck between fingers. His mind categorized every stress and its cause for those he loved and he took great pains to reduce them. He was nosey and didn’t believe in shut doors or quiet mornings. Everywhere he went he left behind fragments of himself; Ribbons, bells, flower petals, mud tracked on the floor, drawings underneath tables, whispered rumors, children's laughter, his warmth soaking into Ecthelion's hand.
Once the two of them would ride out to the distant edges of Gondolin and camp for days. They would sing and play and throw each other into the mud. Then stories were told at random intervals, the same circular arguments interrupting them and resolving. In Gondolin proper one could only be found a few paces away from their half. Multiple times Turgon had to tell them off for slipping notes or Glorfindel's inability to whisper. Behind their houses’ walls private dinners were eaten and laughter echoed. Yet as time dragged on, Ecthelion retreated. He sunk beneath freezing waters trying to numb himself because it was too good.
He had hidden their affection from himself. It was too much fuel for his illusioned heart to whisper lies about futures full of the scent of soil and the sound of laughter. Yet in doing so Ecthelion had done a great crime against his dearest friend. It was cruel to deny that Laurë was only a ner, just like himself and he was loyal devoted in love with him. It was even more painful to drag him along in his game of denial. Laurë gave so much to the world around him and was giving still; Ecthelion held his heart in his hands for Eru’s sake! And nonetheless he fell into the crowd and put the softness of his smile on a pedestal called Glorfindel that caused only isolation. If Glorfindel was deified and the sun high above then Laurë was the ner before him. His hair was choppy with leaves still stuck in strands, and already dirt stained his robes and his lisp was pronounced. Out of the corner of his eye Ecthelion could see Glorfindel glare at a bird that had been making the same sharp sound for minuets.
Ecthelion had killed this. Why? Why did he let the idol of Glorfindel replace Laurë; run from the greatest friend he had ever met, shut his door to someone who grew him his own special flowers? Why is all his heart begged to know. The door had already been opened, the poison drunk, there was no use undoing the realization. Those thousands of excuses he made over the millennias were clear as glass; the true worry was the idea that to act on his love for Glorfindel meant consequence, failure, and difference. Ecthelion was a coward, so afraid of potential futures to the point he stopped living. Rejection became a selfish shield because reality meant possibility, one he only saw the worst of.
But, as it seemed in the glowing light and the shine of Laurë’s smile, what was on the other side of that open door wasn’t world-ending. In fact, it seemed beautiful.
He leaned forward to cup Laurë’s cheek. Silence descended on their little bubble. Wide green eyes stared into smooth brown. They softened and that freckled face rested further against the ink-stained palm. Laurë seemed to want to say something but didn’t speak. Maybe it was because he had no vocabulary to react to this. Maybe it was because Ecthelion looked at him with an emotion he saw reflected in those brown eyes a thousand times over his life.
Who knows. Not Ecthelion.
But what about the golden hero Glorfindel’s fate? What about the beaten bird, the boring pebble, the coward? Damn them all. Laurë was intent on digging into Ecthelion’s life and making himself a home in his fëa. He had already planted himself inside Ecthelion and only now was Ecthelion calling the tickling sensation in his heart the movements of petals. Ecthelion wasn’t a flowering tree, but he’d cling on as tight as he could. He’d love Laurë with winding rivers and cisterns and ponds where the two of them could hide in peace. Then with those waters that cutting could grow tall, even taller than the tree it was from, and it’d drip with abundance.
Around them the wind whistled, birds continued to sing and the world moved on. Blonde strands danced against Ecthelion’s hand, scratching over old scars. They continued to stare into each other’s eyes. A cut tugged on Glorfindel's lip as he smiled once more. Together they breathed at almost exactly the same pace. In, out, in, out.
“Laurë”
“Thel”
One of them brought their faces together. Nose slotted against nose and arms wrapped around backs. Ecthelion smiled softly, his crooked teeth peaking through. Tears traveled down the sides of Glorfindel’s cheeks. Neither of them said a word, only hugging tighter. Once they kissed, softly, for only a moment. It was enough for them, enough for the sapling stretching towards the sun and reaching out for the warmth it had long missed.
Eventually, after the sun rose higher and Ecthelion’s night robe dried out, soft reassurances of love and promises to stay left their lips. Wind chimes rang out in the garden which meshed with the sound of the ponds nearby. Unsteadily Ecthelion rose, nearly falling over into the water. Glorfindel stopped him with a gentle hand on his waist. Ecthelion pulled him up for a hug once more, reaching behind his back to trace over the marks of an old wound. Tears pricked his eyes, absorbing into the rich brocade Glorfindel wore. The wind blew west, blowing Glorfindel's hair into his mouth. With a laugh he shoved the strands out of his face. and Glorfindel had to shove hair out of his face with a laugh. Hand in hand Ecthelion led him from the garden into his house.
A hole and fence were going to have to be built for their cutting, but they had to plan it first and talk about where it would go. There was much the two of the needed to talk about as well, from their days in Gondolin to the years apart. The world could wait for them
hi! i finally finished the ecthelion playlist (though i might keep adding stuff, we’ll see), and I figured id send it over in case you wanted to see it
Of COURSE I want to see it! Thanks so much for sending it over! These look like some great picks! Oh Ecthelion... poor guy.
Thanks @annarobots and @fiammagalathon for the tag!
From the next chapter of The Sun and the Clear Pebbles of the Rain:
Ecthelion sits in his cold spring room for a long time, listening to the rush of the waterfall until all his limbs grow numb, but still he hurts. He falls asleep there, and one of the servants finds him and half drags, half carries him, blue and trembling, to his bed. The next morning, when he wakes, he realizes he had forgotten to practice the flute, and there is no flower left on his windowsill. This realization is enough to make him vomit up the half-cup of tea that was all he could manage for breakfast. This is objectively bad, and he should probably do something about it or the city will never get interior running water, so he goes to the only place he can: the bank.
“I need to see Lord Egalmoth,” he announces to the teller at the window.
Tagging @whenstarsignite @a-tehta @eastofakkala @drowninginmytbr and anyone else who would like to participate!
hi!! I love the way you write ecthelion, and i was wondering if you associate any songs with him? trying to make a playlist for him but im getting stuck lol
Do I associate any songs with Ecthelion? My friend, this is like asking a fish if they have water, Glorfindel if he has flowers, or Ecthelion if he has self-esteem issues.
(I'm so sorry you know not the madness you have stumbled into. I have playlists for most of the major Pebbles characters. I have a separate playlist for each chapter of Pebbles. At any point in time I am desperately trying NOT to talk about my Silmarillion playlists. This ask is like Christmas and my birthday for me, but I shall try to be normal.)
Okay, I'm going to keep in mind that this is for a general Ecthelion playlist, and not based on my AU, or Glorfindel/Ecthelion, or anything like that. I wish I knew what genres that you like so that I could tailor it to you, because I can't actually promise that my taste in music is good. All that being said, here are my top 5 Ecthelion songs:
Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls. This is THE Ecthelion song to me, and not just because of the mention of fountains. When Ecthelion is upset he sits in his little ice bath modeled on the cave he almost died in and plays this song on the flute for 3 hours straight.
Doors by Noah Kahan. How Ecthelion sees himself.
Flaws by Bastille
could you love me while i hate myself by Zeph
get him back! by Olivia Rodrigo. Is this too Pebbles-specific? Maybe, but the confusion over all these intense internal emotions is very Ecthelion to me. (Honorable mentions go to "Lacy" "The Grudge" and "Love is Embarrassing" - Olivia Rodrigo has a lot of applicable Ecthelion songs)
Bonus Glorfindel/Ecthelion song: Gold Rush by Taylor Swift, for how Ecthelion sees Glorfindel
Anyway, if you want more, here's my Ecthelion playlist, which is in roughly chronological order for Pebbles, but may be of use?
I hope this helps! And I would love to see any songs YOU associate with Ecthelion, because I desperately need to branch out into new music, and the quickest way to get me to like a song is to associate it with a character I already care about.
Thanks so much for this ask! Genuinely made my day.
Thank you @glitterlessgold for tagging me!
I have decided to share something that might, or might not, be a WIP. The scene below came to me in a flash of inspiration while I was trying to get Fingon to have sex with, er, never mind. And it does concern Fingon! Obliquely! But it is mostly about Ecthelion, as usual.
“And remember,” said Turgon, drawing himself up to his full height, “this is a secret assignment. You must not speak of it with anyone.”
“I understand, my Lord.” Ecthelion disliked having to look up at people, but he disliked his dislike of it more. Turgon was his liege! Looking up at, or to, him was appropriate, even if it was not always easy. “I will not discuss the matter with anyone–except yourself, of course. It would be difficult to do so, given that I do not know what the assignment is.”
“Ah. Right. Here it is.” Turgon reached under his desk to retrieve a locked box. Unlocking it revealed a second box, and unlocking that–a leather bag with a complicated buckle. Turgon took a moment to undo it before picking the bag up, rather gingerly, as if he feared its contents, and then, suddenly, upending said contents onto the desktop.
Ecthelion just barely kept himself from flinching, which was good, since the bag did not contain the dangerous insect or reptile he had been expecting, but merely a slim volume. “A book, my Lord?” he asked.
“In a manner of speaking. In a different, more accurate manner of speaking, it is treason, blasphemy, and depravity, all bound together with mediocre skill.” He poked at the book with the bag, flipping it over to reveal its front cover, which showed a stylized bird–a pigeon, Ecthelion thought–as well as poorly-kerned title.
EAGLEBACK MOUNTIN’, by A Lady.
“A zoological text, my Lord?” asked Ecthelion. “Does it contain inaccura–”
“No. Or rather, yes, I expect it does, but zoology plays no part in them, Eru be thanked. Regardless,” Turgon put the bag in the inner box, which clicked shut. “I want the author of this vile work found, And arrested.” He put the inner box in the outer box, and locked it with an emphatic, symbolic flourish.
“Very well.” Ecthelion nodded. “Only… my Lord, when you say I must not speak to anyone, does that include, well, witnesses? And forensic experts? Because–”
“Of course not! You know what I mean! Or, at least, you will,” added Turgon darkly, “once you have read the work. Which you should do as soon as possible: I consider this matter most urgent. My brother’s very honour is at stake!”
I am not sure I need to explain what the book contains, as my readers are smarter than Ecthelion and know that it is rpf of Maedhros and Fingon, in a precarious setting. I see this story as a police procedural, and a way to torment poor Ecthelion with imaginative gay porn. I am 80% sure I will try to write it for glorthelion week.
