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Erestor was sitting naked on the couch in the small antechamber connected to the barracks when Rog found him. It was so early in the morning that the sun had yet to rise. Saluting to the superior officer, Erestor resumed his deep-in-thought position as he stared at the wall.

“Ready for today?” questioned Rog, taking a seat on the other worn piece of furniture, a larger couch that mismatched the one Erestor sat upon, choosing a spot that did not sink to the floor.

“I will be,” answered Erestor softly, not wishing to wake any of his fellow soldiers sleeping in the next room. Nearly all of them would be competing in some way or another, or at the very least helping with the readying of some part of the competition. It was practically mandatory, for Rog’s house was the host of the games this year.

Propping his feet up on a low table that had seen better days, Rog asked, “Do you want me to trim back your hair a bit before the preliminary fights?”

Erestor shook his head. “I really am trying to get it to grow out a little,” he said.

“I know, but that is about the most dangerous length it can be,” Rog warned. “Too short to tie back, long enough to grab hold of.”

“Except, tall as I am, I expect Salgant would need a ladder to try that.” Erestor squinted as the first rays of sunlight came in through the small curtain covered windows.

Rog nodded. “Except that what you forget is you have at least two other matches today. The one before Salgant, and the one after him. Perhaps more. The further along you get, the more likely your opponent will fight rougher.”

“I do not think I shall get very far,” admitted Erestor. “I have not trained as well as I might have. I have been a bit distracted.”

To this, Rog smiled. “But she is a good distraction, is she not?”

Fighting the urge to smirk was useless. Erestor nodded. “Beautiful, strong, and intelligent.”

“No need for you to flatter me with such remarks.” Rog stood up and passed by Erestor, leaning down to whisper, “Just take care of her, and do not fall in love.”

---

“You did well, Glorfindel!” Ecthelion hit his palm against the empty spot on the wooden bench he was sitting on. The blond climbed up into the stands and dropped himself down. It was very early in the games, but Glorfindel was already through for the year. He removed his riding gloves and slapped them down into his lap. “Look at who you were competing against; you did well,” Ecthelion repeated.

“You know, I can never win these things. I do not know why I keep putting myself through this.” Glorfindel leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, forcing himself not to pout in public.

Ecthelion gave him a pat on the back. “If you would only choose something other than chariot racing-“ He was given a dark look. “Fine, then, do not take my advice.”

“You are well aware of the fact I could never make it through anything except the equine events,” grumbled Glorfindel.

Sighing, Ecthelion nodded. “I suppose you are right,” he answered, but neither elaborated. The reason, however, was known to them both. With the exception of events where horses or musical instruments were present, all of the competitors were completely naked. This served two purposes – first, no one had the ability to hide anything on themselves that might sway a competition one way or another, and second, it gave the eligible young ladies a full view of any strong, hearty bachelors that were available so that no mistakes could be made about them ahead of time. Not everyone liked the rules of the games, but the vast majority did attend them.

“Glorfindel? Oh, it is you!” A cheery voice called out some ways away, and soon Glorfindel found Aranel standing on his other side in the bleachers. “You truly excelled in that race,” she complemented. “Would you mind if I sit with you?” she implored. “I have no escort, with both father and Erestor readying for the next competition.”

“Please, that would be lovely,” answered Glorfindel, motioning to the empty space. “Ecthelion, have you had the pleasure of meeting Aranel?”

“That I have,” answered Ecthelion, leaning around Glorfindel a little to give a slight bow to the lady. “Did I hear right that your father is in the next competition? I was under the impression that he was competing elsewhere.”

Aranel nodded her greeting to the Lord of the Fountain. “Oh, he is,” she said. “King Turgon insisted, however, that the boxing champion defend his title. He was not made to partake in the preliminary rounds yesterday.”

This new news did not bode well in either Glorfindel’s mind, or Ecthelion’s. The whole of the watchers turned as a trumpet sounded near to the palace entrance.

“His royal highness, King of Gondobar, Gondothlimbar; City of Stone, Gwarestrin-Gondolin; Gar Thruion the Secret Place; Lothengriol, Tower of Guard, Turgon the Great!” shouted a voice from atop one of the towers, and all stood and bowed very low in reverence as Turgon, crowned with garnets in his magnificent attire of pure white belted and adorned with gold passed with the Lady Idril between the two trees at the palace doors and held their place for a moment as the Song of Gondolin was played upon flutes and harps and the very trumpet that sounded his coming.

Once the king had reached the royal box, from which he, Idril, and others of his fancy would watch the afternoon and evening games, he took the cone which was used to enhance the strength of one’s voice and shouted into it for his people to hear, “Bring forth, the champions!”

It was the same he would echo for each of the competitions for the rest of the day. The first, however, was always boxing, and from within the palace, one after another as their names were called from the tower, the ellyn emerged and would go either left or right, touching one of the two trees as a sign of gratitude to the Valar and Eru. One was silver, and the other gold, and it was said by some that these were trees that came shoots of the trees destroyed in Valinor.

Erestor was near to the beginning of the list, and when he came out he turned to the right, his hands touching upon the golden hued bark of Glingol. “Strange, I would have expected him to choose silver, for his house,” said Ecthelion to Glorfindel.

When Salgant appeared, he was given more applause than the others, but he was also the only competitor who was garnished with boos and hissing as well. His hands, not so chubby as they might have been but thick and fat all the same, pressed to the silver tree, Bansil, before he proceeded to join the others in the field. Idril was still whistling for him and threw a rose down to the ground near the competitors as Salgant took his place; it was obvious that he had the royal favor as Turgon gave him a bow of his head.

“Figures,” sighed Glorfindel as he watched the exchange.

The trumpet blared again, and from on high came the call of, “Rog, Master of the Army of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Hammer, Reigning Champion of the Mid-summer Games Boxing Tournament!” Amid renewed fanfare, Rog emerged. With his arms spread out, he managed to touch the boughs of both of the trees, and a great cheer rose from the audience.

Beside Glorfindel, Aranel had stood up and was clapping and shouting down encouragements. “Good luck, father! Break someone’s wrist for me!” She was blowing a kiss to him and threw over the heads of those in front of her a bunch of white flowers while both of her companions gave her an odd look.

“Break a wrist? My word,” muttered Ecthelion.

Giggling, Aranel explained, “I yelled it once when I was a little girl. My mother scolded me for three days, but father did as I asked and it was the first time he won the competition. Now he insists I continue the tradition, for luck.”

Absently rubbing one of his own wrists, Glorfindel said, “I sincerely hope he does not break one of Erestor’s wrists.”

“Oh! Good point,” she said, and standing again shouted loudly, “Not Erestor’s! I need his! Break someone else’s wrist, father!” With the excitement of the crowd dying down now, her voice easily carried over the others in the bleachers, and somewhat stopped any discussion in her area. On the field, the competitors were glancing nervously at one another, even Salgant.

In the royal box, the king stood and walked with amusement to the edge. “Rog, would you like your coach on the field with you?” Laughter rose up from the stands.

Shaking his head, Rog shook a scolding finger at his daughter, but was smiling and broke into laughter after Erestor said something to him, which caused him to shake the same finger at the grinning, dark-haired elf on the field.

“I wonder what he said,” mumbled Aranel as the horns sounded for the beginning of the competition. The first match was between an elf from Duilin’s house and one from the House of the Mole. Since none of the three knew either of them, nor the pair that would begin fighting in the second ring, Aranel offered to retrieve some lunch for the three of them while the lords kept watch on the games.

As the first match ended and the second began, Ecthelion said to Glorfindel, “She seems like a nice girl. A little strange, but I suppose being raised by Rog would do that to someone. Do you think she and Erestor will end up binding to one another?”

“Oh, I have a feeling marriage is in their future,” answered Glorfindel, avoiding the actual question skillfully.

It was not long after that, and Aranel returned. She had with her a basket with two bottles of wine, bread, cheese, and fruit, and also another ellon. “Look who I found wandering about on the grounds. I told him he had to join us, and I would not take no for an answer!”

Egalmoth shook his head. “M’lady, as I said, it is quite crowded up here. I do not wish to intrude.”

“I have space on my side, just a moment.” Ecthelion resituated the light cloak he had brought to save an extra space for Erestor, in case the matches did not go so well for the Noldo. “Sit here,” he said, motioning to the spot. “Eat with us.”

For a moment it appeared Egalmoth would still decline, but he walked carefully around the others and sat comfortably down on the bench. Lunch was shared and three more matches were completed before Salgant and Erestor were announced.

“I hope he gets his ass kicked,” growled Egalmoth as the match began.

“Who?” questioned Ecthelion, but his question remained unanswered.

On the field below, clad in nothing save for a mark of paint on their upper arms to show whose house they fought for, Erestor and Salgant began the match. In part, Rog’s assessment had been correct – Erestor possessed a great deal of power, but the rawness of it was untamed, and he lashed out here and there with less practice. Salgant blocked these attempts and managed to get the only connection of the first round before a double blast of a trumpet signaled the competitors back to their own sides.

In the second round, Erestor fared less well, and was struck eight times to the two blows he dealt to Salgant. He returned to his side panting and sporting a bloody chin and a gash above his eye that was already beginning to heal itself. Salgant had thus far sustained only bruises.

Rog held conference with Salgant for a minute while Erestor stood alone to the side. A sharp, shrill whistle came from near one of the gates, and Erestor looked over, as did many, to see young Laiqalasse standing and motioning to Erestor. Erestor shook his head, for it was banned for the competitors to leave the field.

“What does he see?” Ecthelion leaned forward and tried to make out what the Sinda was trying to convey to Erestor. “Something is wrong here.”

Egalmoth was shielding his eyes from the sun, observing Erestor now. “He should not be in such bad shape, not from those few blows. Salgant does not have such power, not even after training these past months.”

By now, the king had seen the commotion at the gate, and pointed down to Laiqalasse and said something to one of his guards. The guard disappeared back behind the royal box.

“Oh, please, do nothing stupid,” prayed Ecthelion, but for whom the prayer was for was unclear. The guard ran down along the side of the field to the gate, and spoke with the young ellon for a moment. Unlocking the gate, Laiqalasse was allowed entrance. He ran to Erestor immediately. “Good. I think our friend from Greenwood must have realized he had to claim to be Erestor’s coach to get to him. Smart boy,” he added.

Glorfindel had one arm around Aranel, who was cringing beside him, whispering a prayer for Salgant not to hurt Erestor any more. Whether an act or not, it seemed quite convincing to Glorfindel, and he held her a little tighter in hopes of relieving some amount of her grief.

On the field, Laiqalasse spoke as fast as he could, knowing they were running out of time until the next round. “In Greenwood, what we do is use hot mithril, mixed with different pigments, and then stab it under the skin while still liquid. It does burn, and removing it is more painful, but it increases the ability to harm someone if used the way I believe he has. Try to get a look at his fists; they will have raised marks on them even if he colored the metallic ink to match his skin.”

“Where did you learn of such a thing?” questioned Erestor.

“The orcs,” replied Laiqalasse in disgust. “It was one of the things that our kin were tortured with; the Silvan clans we brought with us from Laurelindorinan to Greenwood perfected the technique as use as a weapon.” As the signal was given for the competitors to return, Laiqalasse said quickly, “Try to dodge him for a while – he will tire as his hands are heavier with the metal in them. I know you want to beat him, but right now you are in danger if you leave yourself open to attack. Keep on the defense.” Erestor nodded and jogged back to the ring, swiping the blood away from his chin with the back of his hand.

By the end of the sixth round, the audience was getting restless. No match could exceed ten rounds, but it seemed this one would if allowed. Since the beginning of the third round, Erestor had done nothing but block and dodge, while Salgant taunted him and threw punches and even tried of few kicks- none of which connected. When, at one point, he decided to simply rush full force at Erestor in an attempt to knock him to the ground, the lithe ellon scurried out of the path. This caused some of the viewers to shout insults such as ‘coward’ at Erestor, who kept calm and focused on the advice Laiqalasse had given him.

In the interims, the Sinda would give tips on techniques to keep Salgant fighting at full force. Not wanting to wait until the final round for Erestor to rally, Laiqalasse whispered for a long while, and all the time Erestor simply nodded again and again. He patted the dark elf’s shoulder and then as Erestor headed back to the ring, Laiqalasse bowed his head and folded his hands.

“Cannot hurt at this point,” mumbled Ecthelion, who was looking more and more upset as the match went on.

“Never know,” replied Egalmoth. “Eru might grant a miracle yet.”

Whether it was Eru’s divine intervention or simply Laiqalasse’s careful instruction was debatable. The very next time Salgant threw a sluggish punch at Erestor, it was blocked. A moment later, the oversized elf found himself sitting on the ground.

“Yes! Go Erestor! Get him!” Glorfindel and Aranel were standing now, as were a number of the other spectators who had at the onset been cheering for Erestor. The dark elf had crouched down immediately and swung his leg around, knocking Salgant off-balance.

With a roar of frustration, Salgant rolled back onto his feet and spread his legs to stand his ground. “A lucky shot,” he snarled, and with his head down, tried again to ram into Erestor.

This time, Erestor stood his ground, and with one foot behind him, stuck his shoulder forward and met the impact. His bare feet skidded a few inches, but as that happened, Erestor drew back the arm that was unseen by Salgant and brought it under, meeting his belly with the first hit, and colliding under his chin the second time. Salgant stumbled back a few steps, and as he made to regain his footing, Erestor offered him another uppercut. This sent Salgant to having to defend himself as Erestor landed blow after blow with expert precision. He held back his strength to maximize the number of times he would be able to hit Salgant before the elflord went down.

As the seventh round neared a close, the voice of Laiqalasse rose up over the mixed reaction of the crowd. “Finish it, Erestor!” he shouted. Beside him stood Rog, who looked somewhat pleasantly surprised at the outcome.

The final move of the round was a double roundhouse kick, which Erestor executed swiftly. He caught Salgant in the chest both times, and into the dirt the large elf fell. A cloud of dust rose up and settled back again as Salgant made no attempt to move. He blinked a few times and groaned as the judge gave a final count, then raised Erestor’s hand into the air. From the royal box, a number of roses tumbled down to the ground.

After taking the ribbon from the judge that signaled his move to the next round, Erestor crouched down beside Salgant and offered his hand to the fallen elf. It was taken, but just as they were both standing again, the bruised ellon opened his mouth and spat across Erestor’s face, into his eyes. Letting go and grabbing hold of his face, Erestor was further attacked as Salgant lowered his shoulder and bashed into Erestor. This time he fell to the ground, but Salgant’s revenge was yet complete. Just before Rog and Laiqalasse reached the brawl, Salgant stepped down with his bare foot hard, and every male elf in the arena cringed, as well as most of the ellyth, as Erestor let out a scream of agony.

Rog wrapped his arms around Salgant to pull the cursing elf away from the one who was now huddled on the ground, on his side with his legs near his chest. Laiqalasse dropped to his knees and wiped the spittle from Erestor’s face with his sleeve while a girl from the sideline brought a bucket of water to clean out Erestor’s eyes.

The king was not amused.

Teeth clenched and knees shaking, Glorfindel felt Aranel cuddle closer and let out a sob. “Oh, Glorfindel! Take me down to see him! I must see my beloved! How cruel!” A quick look between them told Glorfindel that she knew more about him than he had ever intended for her to. Standing up immediately, he nodded and made his way through the crowd, most of whom were now on their feet.

When they reached the ground and managed to beg their way onto the field, they found Erestor sitting on a stool with a damp cloth in his lap. Laiqalasse was stitching the neglected wound on Erestor’s chin, which had begun to bleed again after Salgant’s attack. “Are you alright?” asked Aranel and Glorfindel at the same time.

“Ughn,” was all Erestor could muster.

At the center of the field, Turgon was now standing before Salgant, shaking a fist at him. Nearby, a guard stood fingering a long, coiled whip.

“Wha’s goin’on?” asked Erestor as he tried to peer around Laiqalasse.

“Sit still a moment,” scolded the Sinda. Nimble fingers tied off the thread before it was cut from the needle with a small knife. “King Turgon said something about ‘fair is fair’ and ‘precedent set’. I think he means to publicly whip Salgant for what he did to you. He attacked after the match was over, and you know the rule about attacking a lord.”

“I have no house any longer,” Erestor reminded Laiqalasse.

The younger elf shrugged. “Apparently, King Turgon thinks different.”

“Nay.” Rog approached them now, shaking his head. “The king has found a worse transgression. Salgant was using an illegal enhancement. When he hit you, did you feel the hard impact? He has mithril under his skin.”

Erestor hesitated and then answered, “Yes, I realized that.” Rog looked surprised, and Erestor stood up. “I have to go stop the king from doing this.”

“What?” Aranel put her hands on Erestor’s shoulders to keep him from standing up. “No! Stay here! He deserves it!” She lowered herself a bit and embraced him, kissing his cheek. “You need to save your strength for your next match later.”

“No. I need to go talk to Turgon.” Erestor took hold of one of Aranel’s hands and kissed it, then stood up. Taking the cloth and tossing it upon the stool, he bit his swollen lip as he walked gingerly to the center where Turgon was motioning to one of the posts used for the jousters and to some rope nearby.

Up in the stands, Ecthelion and Egalmoth were standing with the rest. “What in the name of Morgoth is he doing?” asked Egalmoth.

“I think he plans to save Salgant’s skin,” Ecthelion replied, and then, getting a brilliant, clever, and decidedly evil idea, he added, “again,” then feigned a look of surprise by his own words. Covering his mouth, his wide eyes met Egalmoth’s concerned look.

“What do you mean, again?” Egalmoth snorted angrily. “Erestor covered for HIM?! That bastard,” ground out Egalmoth, glaring at Salgant. “All that time, he made it seem as if it was I who he was ashamed to be seen with, and he did it all to cover his own lies! But why? Why did Erestor do such a thing? They hate one another!”

Feeling the only way to keep Glorfindel safe was to continue with the charade, Ecthelion said, “Who is to know? Erestor is odd like that – he protects anyone he thinks has a case for it. He is sympathetic toward their predicament; a romantic who thinks anyone who wants to be in love should be freely able to show that love.”

“I cannot believe this,” growled Egalmoth. “But it makes sense; Salgant always was a coward.”

At the king’s side, Erestor made his plea. “M’lord, there is no reason for further violence. No need to sully these games.”

“They have been ruined already by the vile acts of this elf, who needs now to be punished!” Turgon grabbed the whip from the guard, holding it out to Erestor. “When they bind him to the post, twenty lashes. Wait, no. You were given fifty, were you not? Fifty, then, and if it is a few more, I shall look the other way.”

Salgant was shaking now and fought the guards who tried to drag him to the post. “Wait! I knew not that the match was over! I was on the ground and in a daze; I did not hear the count!”

“Your highness,” began Erestor again, placing his hands on the whip, but over Turgon’s so that the king could not release it, “I knew of what he did. I could have ended the match early and stopped the incident that occurred from happening. But I wanted to hurt him, I wanted to put him in so much pain that he would remember it for years. That was wrong of me. I entered this competition under false pretense. If he deserves to be whipped, so do I. For making a mockery of these sacred games.”

The king and Erestor stood for a few seconds, observing each other. Finally, Turgon turned his head and signaled for the guards to let Salgant go. Erestor lifted his hands off of the whip. “Salgant, get thyself away from here. I do not wish to see you the rest of the week.”

“But... the minstrel competition this evening...” argued the ellon.

“... will be won this year by someone else,” finished Turgon. “Be glad you are leaving without feeling the kiss of the whip.” To Erestor, the king said, “I do not know what the schedules look like for the next set of matches, but I will be sure that you are not in the quarterfinals. Next year, however, I hope you compete for the right reasons.” Tossing the whip back to the guard Turgon walked away, leaving Erestor alone at the center of the field.
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