The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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The House of the Harp

It has been a rough year but I'm getting back to writing.  This chapter looks at life in Gondolin and draws loose inspiration from my experience with a stalker for the last eight years.

 

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52)  The House of the Harp – Year of the Sun 502, Yavannië (September)

Morelen

In the great hall of King Turgon, at the reception for the wedding of Tour and Idril, Lord Salgant stood at the riders’ table, nostrils flared, staring at Morelen and the other ladies, expectant that they would leap up and attend him.  “Well, are you ready?  I want to go,” he said in a huff, his perfectly coiffed dark hair plastered to his head like a bowl.  His ostentatious silk robes fluttered around his chubby frame as he stomped his foot, covered in a bright silk shoe.  The scene was nearly comical.

Morelen glanced at Notaldo and the others whose eyes were full of awkward concern.  This was a break point.  They could not offend a great lord of Gondolin.  They were still fairly new here and could not jeopardize their place in their new home.  Or so they thought.  The three ladies forced smiles and stood, uncomfortable.  “Yes, yes, we’re ready, Lord Salgant,” Morelen said pleasantly but with a waver in her voice.  She thought the whole thing might be a jest, but he was serious.  She let out a nervous chuckle as she tucked her dark hair behind her ear.

“Oh goody!” he squealed like a child, causing eyebrows to raise.  “Come, come, we have much to do,” he declared and practically shoved the women out as if he were a shepherd, herding goats.  Morelen looked back at the table with her brows furrowed, hoping for some rescue which she knew would never come.  He hustled them out of the great hall and back to the House of the Harp as fast as his pudgy legs could carry him through the chill evening air. It was almost comical; like watching a penguin run, an animal described by Círdan in hilarious detail.  She exhaled deeply, determined to make the best of this.  Who knows, it might actually be a good thing.  She looked at the other ladies, both of whom appeared edgy.  This whole situation was very unusual.

The House of the Harp was on the south side of the Hidden City, fairly close to the House of the Fountain.  They had walked by it many times but never thought much of it until now.  The building had three wings, all white plastered walls with blue tiled roofs, very refined, very elegant.  The three wings all had tall, delicate spires, emblazoned with the image of a golden harp.  Guards came to attention as their lord approached, holding sharp polearms straight and proud.  The troops of the Harp were well respected and formidable even if their lord was a bit…different.  They opened the great wooden doors for the group and were greeted by staff with refreshments and hot towels that were soaked in scented lemon water.  The foyer had a hearty wood aroma with stairs that led to the quarters and halls that led to musical conservatories.

There was a little flutter in Morelen’s heart at the idea of a conservatory and Telerien and Caladiel obviously felt the same.  Salgant noticed this and his face lit up.  “Yes, yes, I can see how excited you are.  Come, come!” he said as he practically jogged down the hall to the right, his boots clacking on the wooden floor.  The conservatory was a little smaller than the one in Nargothrond but no less elegant and well outfitted with various instruments from lyres to harps to flutes, many of which had labels for their owners.  It was paneled in rich walnut that greatly improved the acoustics of the chamber, dark and light slats alternating in a beautiful design.  A bittersweet memory flashed of their recital before King Orodreth and Finduilas, all of which were only memories now.  She had a vision earlier of Finduilas, pinned to a tree with a spear but was it real?  If so, the poor princess was better off.  The horrors that awaited her in Angband would have been too much for the princess to bear.  Morelen thought of the ladies of the court that she sang and danced with.  They might not have been so fortunate as to have been killed.  A shudder ran down her spine.

Salgant rushed over to the wall and began fussing over musical instruments, snapping Morelen back to reality.  “Uh, let’s see, let’s see,” he said, picking up a lute and then putting it back, mumbling to himself with a hint of scorn.  “No, no, no. Hmmmm.  Not suitable at all, no.  Ah yes, there it is,” he added as his face lit up like a lamp.  “I see it now.  I can see the music in my head, you know,” he said as he waved his arms flamboyantly, his gaudy, slit sleeves flapping.  He picked up a lyre, flute and a recorder and handed them out.  “Sit, sit!” he ordered and gestured to some well-crafted and comfortable seats.  He then went to a large, golden harp, picked it up lovingly and sat in a beautiful padded seat of red and gold.  “Now, follow my lead, ladies,” he declared and began to pluck the strings, releasing a rich, vibrant chord of notes.  He was certainly the musician that he was rumored to be and then some.

Morelen raised a pleased eyebrow and the ladies joined in, following his rhythm, blending into a tapestry of sound that was nothing short of sublime.  The notes penetrated deep into their minds and hearts, and she found that she did not want it to end as she plucked the strings of her lyre, which was much like a small harp.  Even the instrument itself was beautifully crafted of hand-picked woods, molded and coaxed into shape by experts and strung with loving care.  As Salgant plucked his final note, letting it drift off into the night, Morelen looked over to Telerien with a knowing, bittersweet smile.  It was as if they were back in the conservatory of Nargothrond, the underground kingdom still alive and breathing in their spirits.

Salgant leapt up, exuberent.  “Oh, this was…this was sublime.  You ladies play as well as any in the hidden realm!  I simply must make you part of my ensemble.  I will send runners to the House of the Fountain to let you know when to come and play.”

“We would love to, but we must work it around our duties to Ecthelion,” Morelen said as they stood.  It was time to return to their house and the ladies moved to the door.  She bowed low at the waist, honestly grateful.  “Thank you, Lord Salgant for allowing us to create something of beauty with you.  We will bid you good evening and take our leave.” She was not merely being polite as she was enchanted by the music and looked forward to playing again.  But something nagged at her in the way that he…presented this…ensemble. 

He zipped in between them and the door, surprisingly quick for one of his girth, and held his hand out firmly.  “Oh, please, please, one more.  One more before I let you go.”  It almost reminded her of Silmani when she was a child, asking for another one of Telerien’s mint cupcakes. 

She sighed pleasantly and nodded.  It was not a major thing.  Again, the music was magnificent, but one turned into three and Telerien had to excuse herself at that point, her face flush with anxiety.  After yet another song, Morelen stood, a little more insistent, her brows narrowed.  She pulled Caladiel to the door and they bowed again.  And again, Salgant moved in front of them and this time, he held Morelen’s hands.

“Please, one more, please. You both are so magnificent and bring such beauty to this house.  One more, please,” he said, his dark eyes pleading.

Caladiel looked tired, her eyes droopy, her expression pleading.  It had been a long day with the wedding and all of the preparations. “I’ll stay,” Morelen said and pushed Caladiel past him quickly.  “I’ll stay. One more.”  Caladiel mouthed a, “thank you,” as she flew down the hall.

Her friend scooted out the front entrance, looking back sympathetically.  Morelen took a deep breath and turned back with a plastered-on smile.  “My lord, don’t you have family to attend to?  Surely, your wife awaits your return,” she said hopefully, tucking her hair back behind her ear in a nervous habit.

He looked confused for a moment, narrowing his eyes.  “What? Family, wife?  My parents are upstairs and…a wife, hah.  No one has met my exacting standard as of yet,” he said and then his eyes bore into her and he moved his hand in front of her face, mirroring her cheek and jawline.  “My wife will have to be beautiful, as beautiful as you, my dear.  And her form and figure…just like yours.  And a Noldor, just like you.  And her voice and musical talent…just like yours, yes. That will be my wife.”

Her face darkened a shade of red and her cheeks felt hot.  “I…I see, my lord.  Perhaps…I could help you to find someone and maybe give you some ideas as to how to approach her.  I would love to be of help,” she said as she went back to her seat, but he scooted in front of her and moved the seat right next to his. 

“Oh, that would be wonderful.  You would do that for me?  You are so sweet.”  He patted the cushion.  “Come, come sit,” he declared as he waved his hand and the lanterns dimmed, creating a…cozy ambiance.

Morelen’s mouth hung open for a moment and she blinked hard, thinking, searching for alternatives. “Ummm, my lord, shall we call others of your household to join?  The music will be a little thin with only two, don’t you think?”  Her eyes darted to the hallway beyond the door, hoping to catch someone’s attention…anyone’s.

“Oh, no, no,” Salgant countered forcefully.  “It’s so much cozier with two and the acoustics will favor that.  Don’t you agree, Morelen?” he asked as more of a statement.

“Ummm, ummm, yes, my lord. Uhh, of course,” she said as a cold prickly formed in her gut.  While it wasn’t her mad, foolish rush to try to save Fingolfin and Fingon it felt like she had been lured into a trap again.  She gulped hard and held onto the lyre tightly.  She had fought against balrogs and a dragon but felt utterly lost here. 

“Now for the Glory of the Eldar,” Salgant said and began to pluck the harp strings, magnificent as always and Morelen joined in, her eyes narrowed and jaw slack, looking for an opportunity to make her exit.  Still, the music called to her, filling her spirit and she closed her eyes, feeling the notes, seeing them in her mind.  Lysa instilled in her a love of music and brought out her talent for it. 

She followed Salgant’s lead closely, the notes accelerating and climbing in pitch and volume.  They melded as one and images began to form in the conservatory, the product of the power of their instruments and the musical power of the Eldar.  Morelen stared at the vision of Valinor, never slowing her playing of the lyre. The Island of Tol Eresseä appeared as if they were flying like birds towards the blessed land.  Though she had never seen it, she knew of the great city of Avallónë, shining white with a massive harbor and lamplit quays.  A tall white tower dominated the city, graceful and pure, covered in etched glass.  This was the wondrous city of the Teleri Elves.  She felt her eyes water at the sight and her cheeks and nose flushed hot as her heart flooded with emotion. 

The next vision was even grander.  A great city appeared on a green hill in a steep valley.  Morelen gasped.  This was Tirion, upon Túna in the valley of Calacirya, once the city of the High King of Elves, Ingwë. His tower, the Mindon Eldaliéva, rose above all other structures, magnificent beyond words, and a lamp with the power of the sun shone out, eastward, far out to sea.  Thousands upon thousands of elves lived here in eternal bliss, her people, the Noldor, who had ruled the city after the Vanyar moved to live closer to the Valar.  For a moment, she glimpsed High King Finarfin in the tower, playing a harp with his sister, Findis, playing a lyre.  They both turned to her and smiled, and it was like a lightning bolt to her heart, her skin tingling with goosebumps. 

The music faded into silence and the vision vanished like a morning fog into nothing.  Morelen shuddered, tears streaming down her face. “The music…the vision…it was heavenly.” A longing for the bliss of Valinor formed in her spirit but she knew that it was not to be.  Like her kin, she fell under the Ban of the Valar, and her fate was tied to Middle Earth.  She laid her lyre down and stood reverently but with purpose.  “Thank you, but I must get home,” she said firmly.  Salgant moved to block her, but a servant entered with refreshments and Morelen practically squealed in relief.  She took a cup of juice and slid around the servant using all of her speed and agility.  “Goodnight, my lord, and thank you,” she said as she rushed out the front door and then breathed a heavy sigh with a smile.  But she didn’t dare slow down until she arrived at the steps of the House of the Fountain.  She put her back to the door and inhaled deeply.  That was…she didn’t know what to call it.

The door opened and Morelen nearly fell backwards into the foyer, right into Notaldo’s arms.  He was still in his formal robes from the wedding and banquet.  She spun and practically melted into his grasp.  “I swear, I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it out alive.”  She blew out a long breath and rolled her eyes.

Notaldo pursed his lips. “I was starting to worry. Telerien and then Caladiel came running back as if a dragon were on their tails and they said you were stuck there.”

She inhaled deeply and took a moment before answering.  “I’m still processing the whole thing in my mind.  Lord Salgant seems friendly but a bit obsessive.  His music is superb so…maybe it’s all about that.  I’m hoping so for he seems a bit fixated on me.” She closed her eyes for a second and shook her head.  It was all a bit much.  While she loved the music that they had created, Salgant’s behavior was…concerning. 

“Well, you know yourself better than anyone and I trust you to watch your limits.”

Morelen nodded.  “I trust myself but I’m not so sure about him.”

The next week became even more…concerning.  The invitations from Lord Salgant were constant, every day, messengers arriving at the House of the Fountain almost hourly.  After two days, she finally relented.  Notaldo put his face in his hands and nodded slowly.  “You’re right.  We can’t offend him.  Our place in Gondolin depends on good will,” he told his wife.

She was glad for his confidence in her but grit her teeth.  “I can control it.  It will be fine.  He seems…unsophisticated and childlike.  I can control this.”

Caladiel grasped her hand. “I should come with you.  You’ll need cover.”  The young Sindarin woman fought fiercely at Tumhalad and showed courage, but this was a different kind of battle.

Morelen shook her head. “I have this under control, but I will call if I need you.  I don’t want to drag you into this.  I hope this is all benign and, if so, I would love nothing more than to have us all play music again.  That was remarkable but I sense something…something else.”

“What?” asked Notaldo urgently.  “What is it?”

They had all trained in warfare, fighting, music and magic and they had seen the drama from the Sons of Fëanor, but personal politics was something they were still very naïve about. Morelen wrinkled up her face. “I…I…I’m honestly not sure.  Orcs, trolls, werewolves…I know what to do. This…,” she began and then rubbed her head with a snort.  “I have it under control.  It will turn out fine.”

Her husband blew out a heavy breath and nodded slowly.  “I will come and get you one hour past nightfall.”

She nodded and then pulled her emerald green silk cloak tight around her.  It was a favorite of hers that was fashioned for her by the finest tailors in Gondolin and had a luxurious fox fur lining.  She looked towards the encircling mountains, perpetually covered in white caps and felt the cool air on her face.  This far in the north in the mountains, the chill began to gather sooner than it would near Nargothrond, even in the midafternoon.  Sprinkles of snow would be expected in a few weeks and heavier snowfall in a couple of months. 

Sliding out the grand door of the House of the Fountain, Morelen took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air.  The caverns of Nargothrond had a certain humidity where even tropical plants could thrive.  Gondolin had such pure mountain air; it almost hurt the nostrils and lungs.  The survivors of Tumhalad had practically used up the city’s supply of moisturizer in the first two years as they adjusted. She chuckled, thinking about how they slathered the lotion on to prevent cracked skin and lips.  She ran her fingers along the caramel brown fox fur that lined her cloak over her deep blue silk gown, accented in silver with patterns of silver fountains.  Other than training under Ecthelion, she had not worn armor in years…not since the disaster of Tumhalad.  She was getting quite used to wearing gowns and dresses now and it suited her just fine.

The quick walk to the House of the Harp seemed far longer than it really was.  Morelen stopped at the door to the house, and the two guards in harp livery came to attention, standing straight with polearms upright next to a vibrant rose bush.  They began to open the great entrance for her, but she waved them off, hesitant with what she wanted to do.  She turned abruptly to depart but the door swung open.

“Morelen!  You’ve come!  Hurry, come inside,” Lord Salgant chimed, half requesting, half commanding her. As always, he wore formal finery, layered silk robes in gaudy reds and golds with slit sleeves of many colors.  And his hair was practically plastered on, slicked back with some heavy gel.  “We have no time to lose.  The music awaits.”  His head went back and forth for a moment, scanning the landing to the door.  “Oh, no one else?  Good!  I have you all to myself then,” he gushed with a hint of a snicker.  He reached out and practically seized her wrist, pulling her into the foyer.  He dragged her down the hall, followed by servants with refreshments, scurrying along. It almost seemed comical.  Almost.

Back in the conservatory, Lord Salgant had already selected instruments for them.  “Here, here, take your flute,” he said, handing her a polished silver tube with inscriptions in the Tengwar, detailing the foundation of the city.  It was a light, well-balanced instrument that felt like it belonged to her.  “I made this just for you.  We have no time to lose,” he sputtered.  “Now sit, sit.  Take a drink first.  You don’t want dry lips for this.”  He sat close to her and put his harp on his lap while the servants set drinks and pastries on a nearby table and slid back out the door.  He took a glass of fruit juice and held up a finger to pause the start of the music.  He took a sip and then focused his eyes on her face.  Unexpectedly, he reached out and grasped her hair between his fingers, twisting the strands around.  “Oh, oh, your hair is…divine.  So silky and smooth, just the way I like it.”  He handed her a glass.  “Now, drink, drink!  Hurry, we need to begin.”

Morelen quickly gulped her apple and cranberry juice, sweet and tart, and set the glass on the table. She took a deep breath and made eye contact with Lord Salgant and nodded as she put her lips on the flute.  His fingers flew like hummingbirds on flowers, notes flowing like a great river.  She closed her eyes for a moment and pushed her breath into the flute, joining the rhythm of his music.  Again, it was sublime…heavenly.  She noticed the staff of the house filing into the conservatory and taking seats or standing against the walls.  They watched quietly and intently, absorbing the tapestry of sound.  For a moment, Morelen thought she saw King Orodreth and Finduilas in the audience and gasped.  She blinked hard and lost the rhythm.

“Morelen!  What are you doing?  Pay attention!” Lord Salgant scolded, bringing her back.  His eyes bore into her, clearly irritated.  The room went quiet with just a collective gasp as members of the House of the Harp stared at her and her face went red.

“I…I’m sorry.  I became lost for a moment,” she answered sheepishly, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks.  She took another breath and nodded, putting her lips back on the metal of the flute.  Lord Salgant huffed and began plucking at his harp again.  After a moment, he relaxed, giving himself into the music.  As prissy as he was, Morelen had to admire this about him.  He was the music.  Images began to coalesce around them and the instruments, forming ghostly scenes of elven life.  Continuing to play, she watched the unfolding display as it became more solid and real. The audience gasped in awe at seeing this, their own memories of Valinor bubbling up from deep within their beings. Seeing the vision again, it was becoming more and more real to Morelen and the longing for the sea became ever more powerful.

Her ears perked up as she thought she could hear seagulls.  But she had learned her lesson in becoming distracted earlier and kept playing.  Her eyes shifted over to Lord Salgant, and he seemed to be in his own world as tendrils of energy swirled around him to the music. She could feel it too and the energy could not be denied.  To the Eldar, music was as natural as breathing, and it had a power all is own.  The ghostly scenes became more solid, now showing a mountain, rising high above the clouds.  She could feel the winds and the cold, a hard edge of chill on her face. She gasped as they climbed in the vision, now among giant hawks and eagles.  Where was this?  A distant memory came to her, sitting at the feet of Lysa and Lyaan, learning the lore of their people.  What was this place?

The hawks and eagles cried out as they rose ever upward.  Then, she saw it.  A palace of polished marble with domed halls.  Music rose up from the palace, blending with the cry of the birds.  Shining faces turned upwards towards them, faces of the Vanyar.  Beyond was a light almost too intense to view.  Morelen’s breath caught in her throat.  It was Manwë and Varda beside him.  This was…this was Ilmarin, the grand palace of the king and queen of the Valar.  Her face flushed hot and her eyes and nose became moist, her joy at the vision so profound.  The hawks and eagles landed with them on a wide balcony of polished stone with graceful arches above them and they floated among the Vanyar as their voices rose skyward.  She wanted to blend with them, join them forever but she dared not stop playing.     

The music was cosmic, ethereal and it was as if this were the music of the Ainur, forming the world. Visions of Eru began to form in Morelen’s mind as the spirits of the Valar and Maiar swirled around The One.  Images of the cosmos were overwhelming, beyond the comprehension of any of the Children of Illuvatar.  The image faded slowly as the music died away.  Morelen blinked hard, her mind returning to the cozy conservatory in Gondolin in the House of the Harp.  She glanced up at the timepiece on the wall that showed it was just past sunset.  It had been hours but seemed like minutes.  Had it been that long? 

Lord Salgant smiled at her. “Magnificent, my sweet. Magnificent.  You saw it too, huh?  Take a moment and we will begin again.”

A servant knocked on the door, getting everyone’s attention.  “My lord, Lord Notaldo of the House of the Fountain is here for Lady Morelen.”  She turned to see her husband at the door with an expectant look, and she remembered that he said that he would come shortly after nightfall.

“Lord Salgant, I apologize for the interruption.  Morelen, Lord Ecthelion is having a meeting soon and our attendance is required.  We should depart.”  He bowed to the lord and the audience.  “I bid you all a good evening,” he said very matter of factly.

There was a gasp in the room as Morelen stood.  She went to Lord Salgant and knelt.  “My lord, I do apologize but we are required to attend to our house.  Forgive me.  I shall let you know of my next availability.  Thank you for your hospitality and I bid you all a pleasant evening.”  There was a certain reluctance to depart, given the magic that they had created but she knew enough to keep a certain distance between them.  Lord Salgant held his hand out and she took it for a moment and then stood to go but he would not let go.  She pulled and then made a face, wrinkling her nose and eyebrows.  “Umm…,” she began and he let go abruptly, nearly causing her to fall backwards.

“Fine,” he said brusquely, his jaw fixed.  “Fine…go. You don’t care about me.”

Where did that come from? Morelen was positively stunned.  “No, no, it’s not that.  I simply have to go.  Our duty is to the House of the Fountain.  I do care about you.  Your music is magnificent.”

He seemed to soften. “That is kind of you to say.  No woman has been so kind as you.  Please stay.”

“I am truly sorry, I cannot,” she answered as Notaldo raised her up to go.  “We have our duty to Lord Ecthelion.”  Just as she turned, she caught a piercing glare from Lord Salgant to her husband.

Their walk back was tense, Notaldo appearing to be deep in thought.  “That was…that was bizarre,” he said thoughtfully.

“I know.  Thank you for coming.  I think I have it under control though,” she said, more to convince herself.

“He’s quite volatile. You just saw that.”

She nodded, pursing her lips.  What Notaldo said was true.  “I know. I have it under control.  You have to trust me.  He’s like a lost child.”  She truly believed what she was saying.  Lord Salgant was indeed very immature for one so ancient.  His behavior was both strange and amusing at the same time. His fixation on her was just a boy’s momentary fascination with a fad or a new toy.  It would go away in time.

The days turned into weeks as winter came on.  Thick snow covered the grounds of the hidden city, with the streets neatly shoveled by the people, the city still clean and organized.  Children played in the surrounding vale and apple orchards, building snow sculptures and having snowball fights, something that Morelen joined in regularly.  Everyone, including the King and Idril, helped to keep the city orderly and the streets properly clear. 

Deep into wondrous winter, Morelen helped to create an ensemble cast that included Telerien and Caladiel along with eight other musicians.  Lord Salgant was the leader of the cozy orchestra and things seemed to have smoothed out.  Notaldo relaxed and Morelen was satisfied that her prediction came true.  “See, it all worked out, didn’t it,” she told Notaldo as he kissed her at the door to the House of the Harp.  She was wrapped in a heavy green gown, lined with rich, cream-colored fur and a thick, hooded cloak to keep warm.  She ran a stick of balm over her lips, protection against the crisp, chill air.  She noticed that the red roses were still in bloom.

The guards, adorned in winter attire, opened the grand door for them.  Icicles hung from the eaves and frost covered the walls, but the walkway was well attended and salted down to prevent slipping.  Lord Salgant was nothing if not tidy and meticulous.  They entered and shook off the snow on their hoods on a towel that been set out for guests.  This had become a ritual now for the several times a week that they would be here.  It was almost as if they were members of the House of the Harp.  In the foyer, there were fur house slippers on a rack that servants handed to them as they took their cloaks. 

As they entered the conservatory, Notaldo glanced over at Lord Salgant and narrowed an eye.  “I still don’t like it, but I trust you,” he said as he turned and walked to his seat. 

Morelen felt a pang of guilt.  She was always torn between her duty to the House of the Fountain and Lord Salgant’s insistence on musical practice.  She heard from Lord Ecthelion that Salgant had even made overtures to King Turgon to have her moved to his house but that went nowhere…thankfully.  Notaldo nearly threw a fit over that, but Morelen always knew how to calm him down.  Setting her thoughts aside, she scanned over the ensemble with a smile.  Everyone was so finely tuned now, so to speak.  She noticed Maeglin in the audience, the first time that he had attended.  Sitting next to Caladiel, she picked up her lute and set it in her lap.  “We’ve gotten pretty good, don’t you think?” she asked her friend.  With the ensemble, much of the fixation on her had been diffused…just like she had hoped.

“I do think so.  It is a nice distraction from training with Lord Ecthelion.  Although I will say that our martial skills are pretty good as well.  I have learned much from you and the House of the Fountain.”

Morelen touched Caladiel on the shoulder as the ensemble tuned their instruments.  “That they are.  You have come a long way.  I daresay that you are giving me competition in horse archery.”

Caladiel’s face lit up with a grin.  “Thank you for saying that,” she said and then her lips curled up with a mischievous glint in her eye.  “Oh, and did you hear?  Idril is pregnant.  They think it’s a boy.  I’m sure it is.”

Morelen’s mouth fell open. “That’s wonderful, simply wonderful! I’ll have to visit and congratulate them.”

Lord Salgant clapped loudly, getting their attention.  “Alright, people, alright.  Enough dilly dallying.  We have music to make!” he called in his high voice as he raised a delicate finger into the air.  “And, one, two, three…begin,” he said as the music began and he joined in with his harp. The blend of instruments was pure harmony and Morelen closed her eyes, feeling the rhythm in her whole body.  She inhaled deeply, letting the notes flow into her lungs, filling them like lifegiving air.  Images and visions began to form around them, so powerful were the voices and instruments of the elves. 

Then, there was a sharp, discordant note that tore through the conservatory, bringing the music to a sudden halt.  There were scattered gasps as Morelen opened her eyes and Caladiel’s mouth fell open. Lord Salgant’s face was filled with horror, his puffy cheeks red.  He stood sharply, eyes searching and narrowed as he set his harp down hard with a thunk.

“Lalmener!  Rómenyano!” Lord Salgant screamed at two of the men in the ensemble.  “What are you doing?  You’ve ruined my music.  Get out! Get out!  You are not worthy to play here,” he continued, throwing sheet music at them as they scrambled out.  He huffed deeply, his face still bright red over his pale skin.  It was almost comical but for his anger.  Then, as a storm that simply vanishes, a smile returned to his lips and he looked around.  “All is good now.  There, it is so much cozier, don’t you think?” he asked Morelen directly.  “Here, let us continue.”

She nodded slowly and then Lord Salgant sat back down, retrieving his harp.  Caladiel’s mouth was still open and her eyes huge.  They exchanged a shocked look and Caladiel began to mouth some words when Salgant clapped his hands again.  “Ready, everyone, ready!”  He took a breath and plucked the strings again as everyone blended into the rhythm once more.  But somehow, the magic wasn’t there for Morelen this time.  Salgant’s odd and volatile behavior didn’t sit well with her and they continued, her face set without a smile. 

The new year came and went, and every session became even stranger over the next few weeks.  Lord Salgant insisted upon sitting next to Morelen and, one by one, every man and then every other woman in the ensemble was dismissed until it was just she and Caladiel remaining.  For this session, the Sindarin lady now sat opposite the two of them with her flute, seemingly lost and uncomfortable, fidgeting in her seat. Maeglin was still in the audience, stone faced, brooding over something, his black tunic mirroring his expression. Morelen made eye contact with him for a moment, and waves of rage flowed from him.  Not for her but something… someone else.  This time, he looked away.  She gasped at the raw emotion coming off of Lord Maeglin and shot Caladiel a look which her friend understood.  They had spoken of this many times over the years with growing concern. She thought she might mention this to Idril when next they met.

Dressed in his usual ostentatious robes of red and gold, Lord Salgant primped and preened to get the silk layers of his clothing just right.  He stood and scanned the audience, nodding at Maeglin with an approving smile to which Maeglin returned an odd smirk.  “We have a special treat for you this evening,” Salgant began in his high, lilting voice.  He grasped Morelen by the hand and pulled her to her feet.  He ruffled the slit, multicolored sleeve of her emerald green gown in an encouraging gesture.  “I have written a song just for my darling, Morelen,” he gushed as the audience applauded. He took a bow and then held up his hand to silence the crowd.  “I call it, Laiqua Lambë…the Greensleeves for my beauty in green,” he added, bowing before Morelen, who blushed bright red. 

“I…I appreciate it, Lord Salgant but…but,” she stammered, surprised, somewhat flattered but uncomfortable.  In a small way, she appreciated the attention and the quality of the music, but this was becoming too much.  She glanced at Notaldo, whose eyes were wide with horror.  Her words of how she had it under control were coming back to haunt her.

He put the tip of his index finger on her lips.  “Shhh, no fussing, my dear.  You should be appreciative.”  He ran his finger down to her chin and then onto the tip of her nose.  He was beaming.  “Now sit, sit,” he added as he placed the sheet music on her stand and then placed one on Caladiel’s. 

A cold prickly formed in her gut and she swallowed hard, her mouth partially open.  She sat hard, her rear plopping into the seat.  Her hands were practically shaking as she held the lute that had become part of her over the last year.  What monster did she create?  Caladiel’s stare at her was pointed.  Are you going to do something about this?  Do you need help?  The message was clear.  She dared not look at her husband out of shame for letting it get like this. 

Morelen bit her knuckle for a moment and then focused on the sheet music.  It would require her to sing, something that she was quite good at. She had to admit that the piece was beautiful.  If only Lord Salgant would care only for the music.  Maybe she could still work that out.  Maybe it could still be under control.

Lord Salgant tapped a thin wooden stick onto the metal of his music stand, click click click, and he took a deep breath before plucking the strings of his harp to begin the first note of the piece.  Morelen could not focus and her music was just a bit off key.  She blinked hard to bring her mind back, but she just wasn’t feeling it. Salgant’s joyous expression began to sour and his eyes bored into her, making her blush.  After one more discordant note, Salgant abruptly stopped with a sour grunt. 

“Morelen!  What is wrong with you?  I wrote this just for you, my darling.  Now, I need your undivided attention.  I saw you looking into the audience!  I saw you.  Now, focus on me!  Only me! Let us begin again and get it right this time,” he said sternly, his face beet red and his eyes and jaw fixed.

Morelen blushed furiously under his stare and her eyes darted to Notaldo, who was still sitting in horror. She knew exactly what he was thinking and she felt like such a fool.  What could she do?  All she could do was press on with the music and then worry about any disaster afterwards.  If only there were a balrog or troll to fight.  It would be so much simpler.  She closed her eyes to focus and then looked at Salgant.  “Apologies, my lord.  I have not been myself.  I will…get it right this time.”  Was his anger purely about the music?  Perhaps it was, given his reaction to the others.  But something gnawed at her…a feeling that it was about her.

Salgant nodded slowly, seemingly appeased.  He tapped his wooden stick on his stand in a three count and they began again.  Morelen tensed her muscles in anticipation.  She would get this right.  Lord Salgant was kind enough to write this piece for her. The whole situation was beyond bizarre, but she would do it justice.  The music began slowly with a quiet, melodic tone.  She scanned the words that she was to sing as she plucked at the strings of her lute.  The words were beautiful and she could tell that they were heartfelt…but only if they were for someone else.  Salgant gazed at her with warm eyes and nodded for her to begin.

“Aiya melissë, anor ni hil melu tye neldë, mornie ná lye ciryandil…,” she sang with all of her heart, her voice rising high into the audience.  It was a song about a man’s deep love and longing for a woman in green.  The audience sat, hushed as her words blended with the melody of the instruments, forming a mist that coalesced into a vision of the Valië, Nessa, the Ainu who was lithe and swift of foot.  Nessa was wrapped in a flowing green robe that seemed both spiritual and physical, her body a whirl of motion as she danced and ran on the ever-green lawns and forest glades of Valinor.  Morelen looked up from her sheet music for a moment to see that Nessa had black hair and the Valië’s face was remarkably like her own. Then, the image of a man on horseback rode towards Nessa.  Was this…Oromë?  She immediately noticed that he was a bit…chubby and his face was…was that of Lord Salgant’s.  Her heart skipped a beat.  She noticed Salgant’s broad grin as he continued to play.

The spectral Oromë dismounted before Nessa and knelt, grasping her hand as if he meant to propose. He looked up, adoration written on his face and she gazed down at him, her other hand over her mouth, covering a broad smile.  Suddenly, Lord Salgant stopped the music without warning and the audience gasped as he scurried like a rodent from his seat to kneel before Morelen and grasp her hand.  The vision of Oromë and Nessa vanished with a pop.

“Will you be mine, Lady Morelen.  I have adored you from the time I first heard you play.  I kept myself from all other women until I found the right one.  I told you this.  I told you.  Your beauty, intelligence and grace-” he began before Notaldo stood up sharply, knocking his seat over.

“Enough!” Notaldo shouted. “I have put up with this long enough. You may be a great lord of Gondolin, but this is wrong!”

Morelen’s face flushed red and she pulled her hand away.  “Lord Salgant, I am married and happily so.  This cannot be,” she said firmly, her mouth hanging open.  The audience gasped, followed by hushed whispers and wide eyes.  This was not under control. 

Salgant stood, his earlier hope and joy twisting into fury.  He took his harp and slammed it on the floor, cracking the frame and splintering the wood of the flooring, he struck so hard.  “No!  No! You led me on!  I put so much into you!  No! You will tell me that you love me! Only me!”  Some in the audience got up and backed away while Caladiel and Notaldo came to stand in front of Morelen.  Only Maeglin had a dark smile on his lips.

“Lord Salgant,” Morelen said, pleadingly, “please, please calm yourself.  This has been a misunderstanding.  You must understand that I am married.  I am sure that I can help you find a suitable wife.”

Caladiel stepped forward with that look Morelen had come to know.  She meant to take the heat off of her friend.  “Lord Salgant,” she said, twirling her blonde hair nervously, “I am…unattached.  I would be…I would be honored to be courted by you, my lord.”

His face twisted from anger to horror.  “You…you’re Sindarin…I low elf.  I could not possibly be with…a Sindarin.  I told you, Morelen,” he said, jabbing his finger at her, “I told you I would only court a Noldor!  You know that, Morelen!” he shrieked and pounded his harp on the floor again, snapping a string with a pang!

A previous conversation snapped back to her where Salgant described his ideal woman, a Noldor like her.  How could she have been so stupid to think that she could control this?  She bit her lower lip and shook her head.  “Don’t say that about Caladiel, my lord!”  Whatever fear she had of offending a great lord of Gondolin evaporated.

Notaldo pulled her back. “I think it’s time that we departed. Come you two.  We best get back to the House of the Fountain and resume our duties there,” he uttered in his most stoic voice.

Salgant became completely undone at this and began pounding his harp on the ground, strings snapping and wood splinters flying.  “This is you! This is you!  This is not me!” he screamed repeatedly.  Salgant’s parents came down to see what all of the noise was about and they rushed over, standing just clear of the crashing harp.

Morelen wanted to go to him and calm him down…make him understand that this was all a misunderstanding.  A pit formed in her stomach.  What would he tell King Turgon?  Surely the King was wise enough to see that this was insane and that they were not at fault.  She took a step, but Notaldo held her back firmly as Salgant continued to scream and hammer what was left of his harp on the floor, debris scattering as people dodged or fled the conservatory.  She looked at her husband who just gave a sharp shake of his head.  Just as Salgant let out an agonized cry and began sobbing, someone rang the gong loudly at the entrance.  It was Telerien. 

“I don’t know what is going on here,” she said sternly, getting everyone’s attention.  “Lord Ecthelion requires the presence of his house members.  Idril has given birth.  It’s a boy,” she added, her voice warming and her expression softening to a smile.

Morelen sighed in relief as the audience gasped in joy.  Anything to escape this situation that was beyond awkward.  As Notaldo ushered them towards the door, Salgant groveled.  “Please forgive me, Morelen!  I don’t know what came over me.  I don’t. Please forgive me!”

In spite of the warnings of her inner voice, she nodded.  She was always a sucker for fools.  “I forgive you, Lord Salgant but we must go and pay our respects to Idril on this joyous occasion.  I suggest that you prepare your house to do the same, my lord.”  As she turned to smile at Telerien, her eyes glanced past Maeglin whose face was stone, his eyes ablaze.  He still had not gotten over Idril and now she had a son.  A dagger of the mind stabbed into her thoughts.

That boy should be mine!

She did not even have time to process this as they ran back to the House of the Fountain, where the lords of the house had gathered.  Ecthelion’s grin was wide and he had donned the elegant robes that he wore at the wedding. “I knew all of the pin pricks would pay off one day,” he quipped about the fitting session that he had with the sadistic seamstress.  “Good, I’m glad that you’re here,” he told the three arriving members.  “We must go as a group to pay our respects for this event. I believe that this is a herald of the salvation of our people.  We must honor the child.”

Turgon’s palace was abuzz with activity as people moved about, organizing the reception and finishing up decorations in the great hall.  It looked as wonderful as it did for the wedding.  The group was filled with excitement as they lined up before Voronwë and the chief of Idril’s ladies, Mindomë.  They were dressed in elegant robes of state in sky blue and silver, the colors of the House of Fingolfin.  Morelen’s mind flashed just for a moment back to Lord Salgant.  She hoped that he was able to control himself…that he had calmed down.  She had a soft spot for people who were struggling.  It would be fine.  It would be back under control.

“Greetings and welcome, House of the Fountain,” Voronwë said warmly, grasping Ecthelion’s hand. He then nodded and smiled at Notaldo and the others who had come from Nargothrond.  “Well met, friends.  These are joyous times, far from the despair that we endured before.  The House of the Golden Flower should be coming back down any time now.  Oh look,” he added, pointing behind them, “it’s the House of the Harp and the Mole. Odd…I don’t see Lord Maeglin.”

She glanced back to see Lord Salgant with his household.  He looked a bit disheveled, something that she had never seen before.  She scanned the gathering crowds, and Lord Maeglin was surely not among those of his house.  Was he that upset that he would not even attend the reception for Idril’s son?

Glorfindel led his house down the grand staircase of the tower, nodding and smiling to those that he passed. “Ecthelion, my friend…,” he said with a bright grin.  “This is a glorious time for Gondolin.  I feel that the future holds greatness for the House of the King.”  They grasped hands firmly, a sign of deep respect among great warriors.  Then, Glorfindel winked.  “I see that I still beat you wherever we go.”

Ecthelion chuckled.  “I would have been here first if it were not for some musical recital,” he said as he poked Morelen in the stomach, giving her a wry grin.  He did not truly hold it against her, but playful banter was central to the culture of the house. 

“My lord,” she said sweetly.  “I shall make it up to the house by playing for dinner.”

He narrowed one eye, skeptical.  “I get the feeling that I’ll regret this.  Me and my stomach.”  Then, he burst into laughter as she frowned sadly.  “Oh, you are an excellent musician.  One of the best that I’ve heard.  Don’t let it go to your head though,” he added, poking her lightly on the forehead.

Glorfindel bowed as his house departed.  “I will expect an invitation to dinner then,” he said as he gestured up the stairs. “The young prince awaits the House of the Fountain.”

Mindomë smiled and ushered them up the marble staircase that was carpeted in blue and silver.  They quickly ascended the stairs, excitement growing by the step.  Idril’s ladies were waiting at the top of the landing; huge grins filled with excitement. There were giggles of glee as the group entered the waiting room.  They were offered refreshments and then led into the chamber where Tour, Idril and King Turgon greeted guests.  The air in the room was light and filled with hope for the future.  This was such an ostentations moment for the Gondolindrim. 

The great doors to the chamber were held open by two of Idril’s ladies, leading into a grand bed chamber that was paneled in dark oak and lighter teak with designs and reliefs carved into the wood.  Cedar trunks were arranged around the room, giving off a refreshing aroma that mixed in with sandalwood incense.  Vases held beautiful and intricate arrangements of winter flowers, roses intertwined with pansies and violas, ringed in snapdragons for a wonderful display of colors.  Yellow Winter Aconite petals were scattered on the bed and cabinets to round out the feast for the eyes.  The ladies and then the House of the Fountain all knelt before the royal family and Turgon bid them rise.

“Welcome, my friends, welcome!” the King said warmly as he grasped Ecthelion’s hand.  The King was attired in his finest robes of state, sky blue and trimmed in silver. 

“Thank you so much for coming,” Tuor added as he shook their hands and bowed.  His sea blue silk doublet bore the symbol of the wing, the sigil of his house.  The smiles were warm and penetrating, adding to the festive air. 

Idril lay in bed under a thick cover of blankets, her smile from ear to ear, though she looked tired. Elves put a tremendous amount of energy into their unborn and it was clear that she had done so.  She held the newborn in swaddling clothes, rocking him gently.  The House of the Fountain beamed.  Ecthelion put the gift of the House on a table full of gifts; a miniature fountain, forged in mithril by Fendomë’s expert hands.  A true masterpiece of craftsmanship. 

“Congratulations, my Princess…my King…Lord Tuor,” Ecthelion said with deep reverence.  “This is an auspicious moment for Gondolin.  Have you a name for the new Prince of the Realm?”

Idril looked down at the infant proudly, then back up at the visitors.  “We have named him Eärendil.”

CODEX:

Weapons:

Kynac – A single edged bladed weapon, longer than a dagger and shorter than a shortsword.

Ikasha – A large, multi-edged throwing star.

Clothing:

Gambeson – a quilted shirt worn under armor.

Doublet – a fitted jacket.

Hose – leggings worn under the armor.

Chausses – loose pants worn under the armor.

Pauldron – armor over the shoulder.

Organizations:

The Riders of Fingon – 

Misë Company – Green

Telepta Company – Silver

Morna Company - Black