“Erestor. It is time.”
Giving Rog a curt nod, the sergeant tossed his practice staff to one of the soldiers he was training. Retrieving his sword, Erestor joined the pair of elves who were making their way to the main gate. He ran his fingers through his hair quickly to remove any twigs or other such things which might have gotten into it during the practice session.
“Captains at the gate!” bellowed a voice as the trio approached, and Erestor held back a few paces, letting those of the higher rank reach the gate first. Once through, he stepped beside them again.
“What an honor. Normally I just ride right in, but these fellows insisted I wait to be greeted.” Gildor dismounted and patted his horse’s flank before striding over and coming to stand before the trio blocking the path. “Please, do not look so happy on my account.” He stepped forward as if to pass them, but Rog moved to block his way. “So that is how it is then. Alright, you have my ears,” he said, cocking his head to the side and looking to Ecthelion in a rather bored manner.
“I assume you are bringing news from Doriath, and letters from your king to ours,” said Ecthelion. “We will not keep you; you can give them to Erestor and he will be sure that they are delivered.”
“Erestor?” Gildor glanced around behind Ecthelion, looking for the scribe. “Where is—he...” Gildor’s eyes fell upon the tall, muscular soldier to Ecthelion’s right. “Oh, I see.” Gildor’s eyes lingered on Erestor, whose arms folded over his chest mirrored Rog on Ecthelion’s left. “’Rul, bring me the messages.”
A silver-haired ellon swung his leg over the side of his horse, leaping down from it. He opened a bag on the side of the saddle and brought forth a stack of letters and a news scroll that was contained in a leather case. These he gave to Gildor before he returned to his mount.
Before he handed them to Erestor, however, Gildor stepped closer to the group and said in a low voice, “We have permission to stay here for the winter.”
“I will tell our king how very sorry you are to have had to turn down that invitation,” Ecthelion said calmly.
“We need supplies enough to return to Doriath,” added Gildor as he relinquished the package to Erestor. Erestor whistled a page over, and handed it to the lad with instructions to take the items to the king. As the youth ran off, Gildor argued, “You must at least allow us in to rest.”
Ecthelion looked at Gildor for a minute or so, then turned his head to the right. “Erestor? I think you can explain it better than I can. You have a better way with words than I.”
“You are unwelcome here,” said Erestor simply. “Unwelcome and unwanted. My suggestion is that you get back on your horses right now so that you can make it back to Doriath before the snows come.”
“This is ridiculous – this is Turgon’s kingdom, not yours!” Gildor paced a few steps forth and back as if looking for a weakness in their line. “You cannot keep me from entering the city.”
“If you really want to enter,” said Erestor as he stepped aside, “by all means. But if you want to leave, I would advise you to go now.”
Cocking his eyebrows high, Gildor demanded to know, “Is that a threat?” He drew out his sword, at which time all three of the elf-lords before him took a step away from each other so that they could draw their weapons as well. “Would you really kill me on your own doorstep? The repercussions would be severe.”
Ecthelion stepped forward, considered his sword, and sheathed it. Erestor lowered his only slightly, while Rog kept tapping the head of his mace into his open palm, making a heavy slapping sound as it hit his large, thick hand. As Ecthelion approached, Gildor lowered his weapon as well – soon finding this to be a mistake.
Grabbing hold of the front of Gildor’s collar, Ecthelion twisted his wrist so that the material choked Gildor at the neck, and the silver-blond dropped his sword. “You do not fear me, Gildor, but you should. Look into my eyes. I have seen death and dealt it. I am a kinslayer, and there is nothing to cleanse that from me. What is one more mark upon my soul now?” He shoved Gildor down upon the ground. “I wanted to be civil about this, but that is out of the question. Now, would you like to leave quietly on your horse, or do you wish for us to have to send your body back to Doriath with these fine fellows,” he said, nodding to the rest of the small party Gildor traveled with, “along with a note apologizing for the grave tragedy of your death from mysteriously unknown circumstances?”
Gildor scrambled up from the ground, sheathing his sword. He gave Ecthelion a disgusted look and then smirked. “Fine. I will go. I have just one thing to tell you before I leave,” he announced, his voice getting louder and reaching the soldiers stationed at the towers.
Cold metal rested upon Gildor’s skin, and Erestor held his sword a breath away from the younger elf’s neck. “Say his name,” growled the sergeant, “and it will be the last word upon your lips.”
Standing completely still, Gildor looked up the blade and into Erestor’s dark intense gaze. “Why do you care so much for him?” sneered the messenger. “Is it that you secretly desire what I have had? What is he to you?”
“He is my friend, which is more than you will ever be to him,” answered Erestor, keeping the sword steady.
Gildor laughed darkly. “Of course. What else?” He tilted his head to the side, causing the edge of the sword to break the skin just slightly. A line of blood welled up and lingered, but Erestor did not move away. “I think you hope I say his name.”
“Please do,” Erestor said, his muscles still remaining motionless.
“I am thinking about it. What power I have right now,” he mused. “A single name, and my life ends. But yours will to – I know your greatest desire is to sail back to Valinor, and I would take joy in the Halls of Waiting knowing that I had kept you from your dream.” Gildor stepped back. “Not today, I think.” He turned abruptly and went to his mount, leaping upon the steed’s back.
“Give my regards to King Thingol,” called out Erestor as the party readied for departure.
Smiling in a sickeningly sweet manner, Gildor replied, “I would, but I once told him you were dead to cheer him up. As you can imagine, he was overcome with joy about that. So was I.” He paused. “I can always hope.” He signaled the party to ride, and they galloped back through the fifth gate and away from the hidden city.
Off to the side, Rog let out a low whistle. “And I thought you had issues with Salgant,” he said to Erestor as the trio walked back into Gondolin.
