In very little time, Maeglin began to make a name for himself in Gondolin, learning the crafts of those who lived there and adding his own knowledge to the vast library of the hidden city. He voiced his desire to do more, to be more. The pride of his uncle was immeasurable, and though the king had lost a dear sister, he gained a nephew who was to him as a son. No doubt, he told everyone, that the youth was destined for something great.
Meanwhile, changes were taking place in the political structure. Erestor’s words had brought about much speculation regarding the dark elf of Doriath – doubts crept into the minds of many, and rumors spread questioning his character. Slowly, the members of his house found ways to join other less dubious clans, swelling the numbers in the House of the Fountain and the House of the Heavenly Arch and leaving the House of the Silver Stars at a staggering population of one.
“I am sorry, Ecthelion. The rules are clear in this matter.” Turgon averted his eyes away from Erestor, concentrating on the captain instead. “You must find a house with people in it – he cannot represent only himself. There are a lot of houses you would do well to align yourself with – the House of the Mole, for example.”
Ecthelion frowned. “I thought that Enerdhil would have taken your nephew under his wing.”
“Oh, and he has,” confirmed Turgon. “But Enerdhil’s numbers will never be high enough to justify a second vote on the council. You need to find a different affiliate. Erestor’s house no longer counts – well, is it even a house any longer?”
“Look, I am right here,” announced the dark ellon. “If you want to speak thusly about me, kindly do so behind my back.” A number of other lords and captains in the council room laughed at this remark.
“Erestor, it is not that we wish to lose you from the council, but you represent no one. Perhaps one day when your house has regained its former strength,” offered Turgon, “you might rejoin our ranks.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Erestor stared down at the ground. “So, what you are saying-“
“What I am saying,” spoke Turgon firmly, “is that I need to follow the rules.”
Glaring at the floor, Erestor spat out, “You have some rather stupid rules.”
Turgon finally looked to Erestor. “That comment I will let slide, for you still think yourself a lord with the ability to question my commands. From this moment forward, I see you as nothing more than a wealthy and arrogant landholder. Now go. This is a private council for the lords of Gondolin.”
Closing his eyes and holding back his response, Erestor swallowed hard and walked down the steps from the spot he had been at for many years behind Ecthelion. Glorfindel wanted to reach out to him, but he dared not. “About time someone took out the trash,” Salgant said to Duilin.
Upon hearing this, Erestor turned on his heel and stared right into Salgant’s eyes. “I will be back,” he promised before pushing the doors open and disappearing into the hallway.
- - -
“Do you know what your problem is?” asked Rog.
Erestor, who was sitting on a bench across from the fountain with his face in his hands, looked up and sighed. He rubbed his fingertips up over his cheekbones, and then circled them at his temples. “What is my problem?”
“You are wild and untamed. Turgon is right about your arrogance, I think. I have heard rumors about what you did to Salgant,” he continued as Glorfindel came from the same direction and joined Erestor on the bench. “I would like to have the chance to punch him, too. But have I? No. You need to learn to control your temper.”
Erestor burst out laughing. “Yes, well, thank you for that observation.”
“I can teach you how,” offered Rog. “You should come to my house, join the recruits there in two weeks. It is no picnic, but I can help you restrain that wild beast within you. I have had recruits who are worse than you – a little difficult to imagine, but true,” he smiled. “No matter, they all became fine soldiers.”
“He has already been trained as a soldier. By me,” interrupted Glorfindel.
Rog studied Glorfindel and nodded. “You have trained him as a warrior – I will not deny you that. He is one of the better archers in the city, and though he is not the best at swordship, I would trust him to fight with me in a battle. His skills with a horse – improving every day. But a soldier,” said Rog, turning back to Erestor, “you are not.”
“But if I were, then I would not be such a troublemaker. Is that what you are saying?” asked Erestor. He did not give Rog the time to answer as he said, “I am too old for such things. Too old to take commands and be told what to do and when and how.”
“No, you are too stubborn. Too arrogant. Not too old,” argued Rog calmly. “You are already getting angry at me, and all we are doing is having a conversation.”
Erestor was about to dispute this, but closed his mouth and looked away.
“Ah! You see? You know I am right.” Rog took a seat on the other side of Erestor. “Right now, you are like red-hot mithril in the forge. You are strong, you have potential, but you are angry and you burn, and no one can get near you. You need to be molded, tempered, and cooled off. I can help you do this.”
Erestor appeared to be contemplating the offer, and Glorfindel spoke suddenly. “I could help.”
Rog smiled and stood up, patting Glorfindel on the shoulder as he made to leave. “You have a good heart – but it is different when you have such a strong friendship. When he is facedown in the mud, will you hold out your hand for him, or will you push him down further so that he must struggle harder to pick himself up?” When Glorfindel did not reply, Rog said, “You will not be as strict – and how can you? You are his good friend. But I am merely offering what I offer to anyone in the city who wishes to become a great soldier – not a good soldier, not simply a guard at a gate, but one of the best in this city.”
“Think about my offer, Erestor,” said Rog as he walked backwards away from them. “You could be something great. If you keep things up the way you have been, though,” warned the smith, “your fire will consume you in anger, and leave nothing but ash behind. And I can do nothing with ashes.”
When they were alone at the fountain, Glorfindel turned to Erestor and asked, “What you are going to do?”
“I do not know,” replied the scribe, staring at the crystal waters as they rose up and plummeted back into the pool below.
