“It is clear to at least one of you why we are here.” Turgon’s eyes scanned the assembled lords. “Although I will not enforce upon those outside of our realm certain rules which do not hold in theirs, I expect everyone here to abide by those laws which have been written. There is one among you who has not.”
Glorfindel stiffened, his mouth dry. He fought back the urge to swallow hard as long as he was able, doing his best to keep his eyes upon the king. To his left stood Ecthelion, jaw set and shoulders solidly squared. The Lord of the Golden Flower did his best to keep the same stance. He knew that behind Ecthelion in the lower rank of lesser lords was Erestor, his features likely hardened in the same manner. Sweat glistened on his forehead and Glorfindel tried to decide whether to wipe it away or leave it in hopes it would not be seen.
For years, Glorfindel had believed his secret was safe. Only Erestor truly knew that something was going on between him and the messenger from Doriath. Everything had been done with the utmost caution. In public, they were more than formal to one another, even calling each other by ‘lord’ and ‘captain’ now and again.
In private, they were even careful. There moments alone were rare, and these were not always spent in passionate embraces. Whenever Gildor arrived, they would spend at least a week of not seeing each other, and the same held true when it came time for the silver-blond to depart. During the time in between, they allowed themselves only four or five couplings. These were done midday when most were working and there was little chance of anyone idly walking through the corridor where the guest rooms were. They used gags to keep from making noise, and many times Gildor even tied Glorfindel down so that he would not thrash about and cause someone to hear the commotion and come knocking on the door.
Everything seemed to have been thought of. Every detail covered. Even so, when Glorfindel had been told of a special hearing that was to take place that morning, he knew. He knew from the way that Turgon looked around the table at the lords who had come to break their fast with the king what was to come.
“One of you has been having a relationship with another ellon. I call him kin and cousin, but for that alone I do not allow his preference to go unpunished. He is under Thingol’s rule, and I will not deny another king his say over his own people. You,” he said forcefully, “are my people. You will obey my laws and decrees. Among you, there is one who has not. I know full well who it is. If they have the audacity to betray me in such a manner, they will also have the courage to stand forth.”
There was a most foul taste in Glorfindel’s throat, and a terrible churning in his stomach. All around, the others buzzed. Salgant, as always, could not keep his mouth shut.
“Sire, if I am correct, is not the penalty still death for such an unclean act?” The harper was smiling wickedly as he looked around the room. “It is a curious thing, to know that you know it to be a Lord of Gondolin.”
“It is I who decides ultimately how to deal with those who break the rules,” Turgon reminded the rotund elf. “Suffice to say, I have strong evidence regarding the identity of the one I am accusing.”
“And who is this one you are accusing?” pressed Salgant.
Turgon looked to the ground. “I had hoped he had more honor than this.”
Tightening his grasp on the rail that encircled the room behind which the lords stood when addressing the king in this full council, Glorfindel knew he was fast running out of time. His feet were frozen in place, and he panicked in trying to decide what to do. Ecthelion was staring ahead, likely trying to assess the situation. Against his better judgment, Glorfindel began to turn around in hopes to receive some guidance or perhaps some extra strength from the ellon behind him. Instead, he turned in time to watch Erestor walk down the stairs past him and out to the center of the room. There were gasps, and then there was silence.
The king was not amused. “Why are you standing here?”
“You know why I am here,” came the soft answer, the deep voice unafraid.
“Yes, it is obvious!” Salgant pointed one chubby finger toward the center of the room. “There is your unlawful lord!”
With very slow, well-paced steps, Turgon circled many times around the dark Noldo. He finally came to stand in front of him. “That is where you are wrong. You know why you are here, but I do not know why you are here. You should be there,” he said, nodding toward the empty spot in the council room.
Erestor did not respond. Meanwhile, Glorfindel helplessly looked on, catching Ecthelion’s gaze for only a moment. His knees shook as the scene played out.
“Everyone else, leave!” boomed the voice of the king. The room began to quickly empty just as he pointed out three of the chief lords. “Not the two of you... or you,” he said of Ecthelion and Glorfindel, and then Egalmoth.
Salgant turned around and gave Egalmoth a questioning look before being ushered from the room with the rest. When the doors finally closed, Turgon paced to his throne and back to Erestor. After a short time, he waved a hand at Egalmoth. “You may go.”
Extreme bewilderment was evident on the lord’s face, but Egalmoth retreated from the room none-the-less. “Erestor, why do you lie to me?” asked Turgon in a dangerously low voice. “Why do you always feel the need to lie to me?”
Again, Erestor did not answer.
“Why do you keep doing this? Why do you protect him?” Turgon shook his head. “I can speculate who ‘he’ is, but you have made it impossible for me to know for certain. He will be more careful now. He will hide deeper in the shadows. He will not give me cause to do this again.”
“I should certainly hope not,” spoke Erestor quietly.
The tone of Turgon’s voice changed. “Why must you lie to me, Erestor? You should not be the one standing here, and yet you are!” Turgon turned his head to the side, shaking it sadly. “Ecthelion.” The king walked back to his throne.
He hesitated, but Ecthelion stepped forward. It was now that Glorfindel’s eyes widened upon seeing the rope in the other elf’s hands. There was no way for Glorfindel to hear the dialogue being exchanged between the two, but he saw Erestor nod and remove his vest, followed by his shirt. Before he could call out an objection, he was called to the throne.
With heavy steps, Glorfindel walked to the king, shaking slightly as he passed Ecthelion and Erestor, who was continuing to undress. “Your highness.” Glorfindel bowed.
“This time,” began Turgon, lifting up a whip he had coiled beside his throne, “make him bleed.”
Glorfindel stared at the weapon. “Sire, I have something to say to you about-“
“No. It is too late for talk, Glorfindel.” Turgon threw the whip at Glorfindel’s feet. “Pick it up. Now.”
Closing his eyes, Glorfindel lowered himself to the ground and took hold of the handle. As he rose up, the braided leather followed like a cobra. Blinking the tears from his eyes, Glorfindel turned around. His gaze fell to the floor as he swallowed back a whimper. Between two columns of the room, Erestor was stretched, with his arms out to either side and tied in place. His feet had been bound together so that he was unable to brace himself against the blows.
Beyond this, Erestor was naked, save for a loin cloth that was wrapped loosely around his waist. His eyes were open, and his head was held up high as he endured whatever was to come with utter calm. Glorfindel had never been as envious as he was now of the bravery the other elf possessed. Holding his tongue, realized Glorfindel, had made him no better than a coward.
“Begin,” instructed Turgon.
Ten minutes later, Glorfindel was still standing and staring, the whip loose at his side.
“I told you to start,” growled Turgon, drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne.
‘Fin. Do what he wants.’
Glorfindel began to shake his head.
‘Glorfindel. If you do not, then he will. He is angry with me, with you, and over so many other things. If he comes over here, I could die. And then, when he finishes with me, he will come after you and what I have done will be for naught.’
As Turgon let a breath out his nose and began to stand, Glorfindel drew back and laid the first stroke across Erestor’s back. The dark elf did not flinch. After four strokes, Glorfindel threw the whip to the floor. A long, red stripe snaked across the marble tiles. Stepping down from his throne, Turgon approached the whip and kicked it back to Glorfindel. “You know damn well that is not good enough,” he growled. “Finish it.”
“No.”
“What?!”
Glorfindel swallowed. He opened his mouth. No sound escaped.
‘Do it.’
Defeat written across his face, Glorfindel clutched the whip and returned to his task. As he fell into a rhythm and slowed his strokes in hopes of buying Erestor a few less, his mind slipped back to a time when he knew the sting of the leather that flew across the dark elf’s skin.
Memories of his father’s cruelty entered into his head. He remembered the first time, when he cried at something his father had shot. It was a deer, and not yet dead as it was dragged back to the house by its back legs. Fighting for her life, the doe’s front legs flailed and blood leaked from her nose.
“Ada! You are hurting it!” shouted the elfling from his tree house sanctuary, clutching the rope that led to the ground in his little hands. “Please stop hurting her!”
“This is dinner, Findel!” shouted Angrod as he reached a tree that was used to hang the kills. The elf lord wound a rope around the hooves and looped it between, securing the deer before he walked around the tree and hoisted up the rope, tying the other end to the ground when the doe was dangling from the tree. Angrod pulled a knife from his boot with the intention of slashing the deer’s throat, but was stopped by his young son.
Pulling on his father’s elbow with all his might, Glorfindel wept as he implored his father to stop. “No, Ada, no! Do not kill her!”
“She is already dead, Findel! Stop it!” Angrod sheathed the knife and shoved the youngster aside. “You see this arrow? It is in her vitals – she will not survive. I am doing her a favor by killing her quickly.”
“No! No!” Glorfindel screeched and screamed as his father went for the knife again.
Rushing onto the porch, Eldalote cradled her baby daughter in her arms. “Glorfindel, what is the matter, baby? Sweetheart, what is wrong?”
“You stay there!” Angrod warned, pointing at his wife. “You coddle him too much, that is why he is like he is!” Grabbing hold of Glorfindel’s arm, he forced the knife into the elfling’s hand and curled the unwilling fingers around it. “Time for you to grow up, son. Stop being such a baby and start acting like a young ellon.”
By now, the deer was drained of most of her energy and only panted with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. She had not given up her fight, but she lacked the ability to continue. Glorfindel tried to wriggle away, but Angrod held his son fast and forced the knife to the deer’s throat. Slashing it once, the head fell back unnaturally and the blood began to flow like a red river from the doe, who gave one final gagging noise before dying.
Glorfindel’s shrieks began again, and Angrod released the hand that held the knife, grabbing hold of his son’s shoulder instead.
“Angrod, let him go! Please, he is scaring the baby,” begged Eldalote, attempting to come down the steps again.
“Damn you! Get back in the house!” roared Angrod, dragging Glorfindel back to the tree with his little house built in it. “You made him soft, I am going to toughen him back up again. He wants something to cry about, I will give it to him! I take care of our son, you take care of our daughter. Got it?”
Eldalote still appeared about to come down, but the screams from Glorfindel were agitating her other child. Cutting her losses, the elleth disappeared inside.
Shoving Glorfindel toward the tree, Angrod began to remove his belt. “Put your hands up on there, now. Higher!” he barked as Glorfindel sniffled and whined but did as told. The belt snapped as leather cracked against leather. The reaction of the elfling was to cover his backside, and Angrod angrily threw the belt into the grass.
“You are going to take this, and not like a girl. No son of mine is going to be a wimp.” Angrod took hold of Glorfindel’s shirt and lifted it roughly over the youth’s head. “Not about to ruin this. Good money paid for these,” he grumbled, and then used the sleeves of the shirt and the rope from the tree house to tie Glorfindel’s arms above his head.
The elfling whimpered as he wriggled in an attempt to get free. His leggings were pulled down behind him. “There. Now you can take your punishment without me ruining your clothes.” Picking up the belt from the grass, Angrod folded the strap in half and cracked it again, making Glorfindel jump. “You hate that sound, do you? Wait until you hear it against your skin, son. We will make an ellon of you yet, even if it kills us both.”
“Enough!”
Glorfindel drew back, but dropped his arm. The ache in his shoulder was a sudden reminder of where he was. Blood covered his arms as it had that day long ago, but it was no slaughtered deer hanging before him.
