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Of all the inhabitants of the hidden city, there was one ellon in particular whom you would always want to have on your side in a fight. Any fight, no matter what, for you certainly did not wish to be opposed by him. He was a cheerful fellow, and rather large for an elf. Although Erestor might have been able to make a claim he was a hair or two taller, his thighs were likely not even as thick as Rog’s biceps.

The Lord of the House of the Hammer was one of the fiercest protectors of the city. His loyalty to Turgon was unquestionable; those of his house were among the bravest in the realm. Rog was well-liked by many, not only due to his size, but due to the size of his heart. Besides making swords and maces and other such weapons, he was known to make tiny toy soldiers and horses from scraps of metal in his shop and to give them to the many children of his house’s people.

When he stepped into the council chamber, it was a great relief to both Erestor and Glorfindel. It was night of the fifth day of their captivity, and both food and water were dwindling. “Praise Aule, you are both well,” he said, his low voice like the rumble of a storm. “I must take you to Turgon immediately; he is in a fit of rage and terror.”

Too stunned to speak, Glorfindel began to feel the worry gnaw at his stomach as he retrieved his boots and pulled them on. As for Erestor, he was not moving with quite as much haste as he did what he could to make his hair, which had remained unbrushed unwashed for nearly a week, look presentable. Rog spent the time walking slowly around the room, taking in the items here and there, the severed ropes, and the stains of blood on the floor that Glorfindel had been too angry to clean up. “I need to have a talk with Turgon,” rumbled the blacksmith, his bulky arms crossed over his chest. He looked even more formidable than usual, his expression dark, and his shaved head making him appear as some great, dark beast and not an Elf of Eru.

His words did not scare Glorfindel, instead, they brought relief. When Rog talked to Turgon, it seemed he had some unknown power to sway the king. It was sometimes balked at that the smith held such a high position in the council, but those who heard him speak knew why. Not a single misplaced word left his lips, and he said only what he deemed needed to be. He disliked debate and arguments with the same passion that Erestor thrived upon them; it was sometimes said that he had one word for every thousand of Erestor’s, and yet, when all was said, they would have said the same thing.

“What happened?” Erestor was ready before Glorfindel, choosing to leave his back and the ugly marks upon it exposed. Glorfindel hurried to join them at the door.

“Aredhel returned,” explained Rog. “But she is dead now.”

---

“I hold Ulmo’s favor, but I swear, you must be in Eru’s.”

Turgon was knelt beside a slab normally used to bring offerings in the Temple of the Valar. Upon the cold stone was his sister, pale as ever, and dark hair shining and meticulously arranged with tiny white flowers adorning it. Erestor stepped past Glorfindel and Rog and lowered himself to his knees beside the king. “Eru did not do this.”

Turgon bowed his head, concentrating on the floor. “Every time you have done something to vex me, the retribution for my rulings against you has been worse and worse.”

“Mere coincidences.” Erestor did not take his eyes from the body of Lady Aredhel even after Glorfindel and Rog joined them.

“My sister is dead.” Turgon choked on the words. “My only close kin not seperated from me by miles, save for my daughter. The best friend I have ever had is now gone. She married; she had a child. I will never hear her speak to me of any of it. So many years of her life lost to me, and so many more lost to both of us now. She will never tell me of these things.”

“I am here, uncle. I can tell you of her life in the past years.”

From the shadows stepped forth a young ellon who, though of obvious Noldorin heritage, was something a little more wild than the nobles of this land. Turgon held out his hand to the youth, who wordlessly came forward and took it, bringing himself down to his knees beside his self-proclaimed uncle. “We had a few hours together before the tragedy that befell her at the hand of her own husband – an elf I was ready to take into my own house, had he not betrayed me with such an action,” spoke Turgon with more than a little anger. “In her stead, my sweet sister Aredhel hath left her son; this is Maeglin.”

Erestor gave a nod, as did Glorfindel. Rog had no doubt met the king’s nephew previously. Their introductions were kept brief, for Turgon once more was staring at the corpse of his beautiful sister.

“She was so insistent to be free now and again. I should have listened to your council to me, Erestor,” admitted Turgon.

With a sad look, Erestor said, “It was not council so much for yourself as it was for me.”

“Even so,” replied the king, “I should have considered your request to court her more seriously than I did. You should have been my brother, and instead, you are my enemy.”

“Nay, there are no enemies here,” corrected Erestor. “Only stubborn old fools who need to do what they can to save their friendship.”

“Your forgiveness comes so swift and easily, Erestor, one would question whether you are mad or insincere.”

“It must be madness, then, for there is nothing false about my words.” Erestor reached out and placed his hand upon Turgon’s shoulder. “All is forgiven, my lord. You did what you believe you needed to do. I hope some day you might forgive me for what I needed to do.”

Turgon turned to his nephew and said, “Perhaps you would give us a few moments alone with your mother. Erestor and Glorfindel were good friends to her. I know this is not the best of times, but Rog could show the crafting houses to you, and you could see the work our smiths have done.”

“I would enjoy seeing your forges, uncle,” answered Maeglin. Glorfindel thought he caught Erestor narrowing his eyes at the way the youth answered, rather casually, as if his mother wasn’t dead before him (and his father at the bottom of a crevice, neck broken and dying in the pit, calling out to his son in his mind). Rog stood and led the way out.

“So,” said Turgon as soon as the three were alone. “I am in Ulmo’s favor, and you are in Eru’s favor, and Glorfindel is in your favor.” At the mention of his name, Glorfindel looked up with a start. “Though I know not why, but that is how it is.”

“It appears so, and I expect it shall continue.” Erestor folded his hands in contemplation and gave a sideways glance at Turgon. “I told you that Gildor would spark trouble. If you take away his ability to cause it-“

“I would rather remove him than remove the law.” Turgon shook his head. “Can you imagine what will happen if I do that?” he hissed.

Glorfindel squirmed uneasily, trying not to show his unrest. Erestor tried to give him a reassuring look, but it was lost in the younger elf’s nervousness. “My lord, all I can think will happen is a few ellyn and ellyth whom no one knew were interested in each other would suddenly be known about. Not that they are all too difficult to spot now – but at least they would be less ill at ease.”

“And what of the ones hiding it so well, they took wife or husband? What sort of chaos would you have here? There will be calls for divorce, which I will not see, and a decline in births. A realm does not survive without constant population growth. Erestor, the ramifications of what you suggest could destroy the order we have. What next after allowing such acts within the city?”

“Ellon and Elleth will still marry, still procreate,” debated Erestor. “You will still have your order, you will still have your realm, and your people. What I suggest is so very little, so very, very little of a change.”

“This is not the time for such discussion.” Turgon’s voice suddenly turned solemn as he looked away from Erestor. “I cannot change the rules, not at this time at least. I am sorry.” He looked up, not at Erestor, but at Glorfindel. “I will give you some time alone to grieve. I need to take myself away from this place for a time. Tomorrow is the... the burial,” he managed to say. “Ecthelion has been making the arrangements; I must go speak with him now.”

When Turgon left, he took with him the torch which had lighted the part of the room they were in. Now, with only a few candles flickering, Glorfindel felt uncomfortable in the dim room full of eerie shadows. He had never been so close to a dead body for so long, especially not one that had been carefully made to look so alive, as if only sleeping, and he was unnerved by it. “Did you really ask Turgon for permission to court Aredhel?” asked Glorfindel.

Erestor confirmed this with a nod. “After I believed I had learned to fight well enough to properly protect myself and others if I had to, and to hunt if the need arose. Something a good friend of mine told his son when the youth had found an elleth he wished to be his wife was that he needed to learn to use a sword and a bow, for he needed to be able to protect his family. I had the same stupid notion after that, I suppose.”

“I had no idea you were in love with her,” Glorfindel said, trying not to appear crestfallen. He hoped his sadness would be taken for grief due to the white lady’s death.

“That, even I do not know. I loved her, I thought she was beautiful, but I am not sure if I was in love or not. It was what I was attempting to find out.” Erestor’s eyes flitted up from Aredhel’s body to meet Glorfindel’s gaze, then back down. Quietly, he said, “I was in love with her cousin. Very much.” Again, he dared look at Glorfindel, but only briefly. “Ecthelion has likely mentioned that to you.”

“He told me once that you were deeply in love with an elleth who caused you great sorrow; that was all,” admitted Glorfindel.

“You should know; it was a lady who is kin to you, Glorfindel. Your father’s sister and I were to be married in Valinor, but things do not always work out as one intends them to. It took me a long time to put that in my past and move on with my life.” Erestor shook his head and leaned his elbows on the edge of the slab. Closing his eyes, he drew the tips of his fingers across them to catch any straying tears. “I nearly died when Artanis left me. And now…” He sniffled and continued, “I just do not know how many times I can survive a broken heart.”

Glorfindel was about to scramble over to approach Erestor, but the elder elf shook his head. “I think I would like to be alone here for a while, if you do not mind.”

“Are you sure?” asked the blond.

“Positive,” said Erestor as a teardrop escaped and rolled down his cheek.

Standing up, Glorfindel fought the urge to drop back down beside the grief-stricken ellon and offer him comfort. “Will you be alright?” Erestor nodded, dismissing him with a pleading wave of his hand.

Glorfindel went to the door, turning around for a moment. “If you had married my father’s sister,” he said suddenly, “then you would have been my uncle.”

“Yes,” realized Erestor, not wishing to turn around and be seen in the state he was in.

“I... would have liked that,” Glorfindel said before leaving. “It... would have been nice to have had you in my family.”
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