#contemporaryelfinchild

Absolutely not meant to be serious :)

Ecthelion and Glorfindel, finest of friends and companions of the most stalwart sort, met together in the courtyard to chat as they did so often before their respective patrols. They had, however, noticed something quite out of the ordinary on this occasion: they seemed to have an unexpected audience. Neither knew when he had appeared, but across the courtyard stood the Lord of the House of the Hammer, and he looked as though he had been there at least as long as they had. He was leaning with his back against the wall and his arms folded tightly across his chest, staring at both of them with a meaningful and grim expression on his face, but with seemingly no intention of joining them. Ecthelion and Glorfindel shared a sidelong glance before walking over to him, determined to figure out why their friend suddenly found watching them so very interesting.

“You alright, Rog?” Glorfindel asked as they approached, nudging him gently with the toe of his boot.

“Mm?”

“You seem perplexed. Or troubled.”

“Do I?”

Glorfindel nodded and moved to lean against the wall beside him, and Ecthelion followed suit on the other side.

“I agree with Glorfindel. What are you thinking about so intently while watching us with that long-suffering look in your eyes?”

Ecthelion’s face was calm and kind, but Rog took one look at him and turned his eyes away, his expression even more troubled than it had been, if possible.

“Oh, just a question I was asked earlier. Remind me to throw Galdor into the King’s fountain when next I see him. His questions are unfairly terrible. ”

“Ah. The questions game,” Glorfindel said knowingly. Playing at questions--one partner seeking to outwit or stump the other with difficult questions--was something of a common pastime among the lords of Gondolin, and some of their friends were delightful opponents, but others could be as tough as steel. “Be glad you weren’t playing with Egalmoth. Sharper barbs you will find only in battle.”

“I’m not sure even he could top this question,” Rog huffed. “But I will not be defeated! Not by the House of the Tree, in any case!”

“Can you not just take a penalty and demand a new question?” Ecthelion asked.

“Ecthelion, do you know me at all? I am unabashedly and inconveniently stubborn. Even if I could demand a new question--which I cannot--I would not! I must answer every one--and truthfully!” Rog complained. “Which would not be a problem if the Valar-damned questions were fair!”

The last part he had half-shouted, half-growled, and Ecthelion and Glorfindel shared another look.

“We’re both on the way to patrol right now, Rog, but why don’t you go with Glorfindel? He’ll cheer you up,” Ecthelion said with another kind smile. Glorfindel nodded in agreement with Ecthelion’s suggestion.

Rog pouted, but finally conceded to take his friend’s advice.

***

When Glorfindel reached his gate, he couldn’t help but notice that his company was not seeming to have any effect on his brooding friend. Instead of their usual cheerful banter, Rog perched morosely on a low wall beside him, occasionally shooting him a glance that he could tell was meaningful, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what it meant. He wondered what on earth Galdor had asked to prompt this much thought and suffering from poor Rog, who hardly ever let any decision grow cold before it was emphatically hammered into stone existence.

“Can I help in any way, Rog?” he asked thoughtfully. “Other than by dunking poor Galdor into the fountain?”

“I have to come to my own decision,” Rog answered. “I’ve come to it already, really, but I feel exceedingly guilty about it.”

“And?”

“And…it’s definitely you,” he muttered, giving Glorfindel a quizzical smile.

“’It’s definitely me’ what?”

“Whether you or Ecthelion is best beloved, by my own judgment.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow and paused for a moment, sitting down next to Rog once more.

“Meaning best beloved in general or…by you?”

A crushing hug from his friend answered his question, and he laughed heartily as Rog broke into something of a smile.

“Ah. A rather tricky blow from Galdor, asking you to choose between your friends.”

“Two of my very favorites! Might as well have asked me to choose between losing my left hand or my right,” Rog said with a frustrated shrug. “I do feel guilty, but there you have it.”

“I am flattered, Lord Hammer,” Glorfindel beamed. Rog snorted and slung a heavy arm over Glorfindel’s shoulder.

“You smug peacock,” he ribbed fondly. “But I of course love Ecthelion also.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

“I gave him his sword, after all. Second only to King Turgon’s.”

“A truly magnificent gift. None could question your love.”

“And I made him that diamond-spiked helmet he wanted, even though I thought it to be ridiculous.”

“Loyalty and devotion of the highest sort.”

“And he will never know of my answer today,” Rog declared lowly, with a warning nod to Glorfindel.

“Never ever,” Glorfindel winked. After a momentary pause, Rog burst out laughing and shook his head, burying his face into his hand in exasperation.

“Tell me, Glorfindel: how do I get Galdor back for this one? I have suffered! Do your worst!”

Glorfindel thought for a moment.

“Well, for one, give him the same sort of question. Make sure to include Duilin, because who can disappoint the sweet thing, and include King Turgon. In fact, include us all. And ask him: if Morgoth were suddenly to capture each of us, imprisoned in dark Angband, and you could only save one…”

“Glorfindel, that is horribly, horribly cruel!” Rog cried. “Valar curse the very thought!”

But his hardened features softened, and he laughed, and turning to Glorfindel with a mischievous glint in his eyes, finally added, “Rue this day, Galdor of the Tree--I’m asking it!”

***