There was one final thing to do before the assembled armies could leave the city.
When all ten battalions were gathered, facing the series of flagpoles that curved around the gigantic fountain in the king’s courtyard, Turgon sharply called for attention. All nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine warriors behind him suddenly stood straighter than they ever had before. The troops were lined with the houses of Penlodh, Rog, Turgon, and Egalmoth in the front and Ecthelion, Galdor, Duilin, and Glorfindel in the back. Between Duilin and Glorfindel was the House of the White Wing, those who had remained loyal to the quest for the Silmarils, but resided now in Gondolin. Voronwe led them, for they claimed no lord, and he was heralded by Celebrimbor.
“Parade, rest!” Turgon barked out, and all behind him sidestepped into an at ease position. Moments later, he called, “Sound retreat!”
Members of the House of the Fountain marched forward from their battalion, while members of the House of the Harp came out of the crowd gathered in the courtyard. Salgant was among them, and despite not going was dressed in his full military garb. He assumed the lead in conducting the playing of the anthem of Gondolin while the troops and civilians stood and watched the fluttering of the twelve flags and reflected.
While the music of flutes and harps intermingled, the squire of each house lord stepped forward to straighten the ropes and tassels by the flagpole of their house to make the job for the heralds easier. As soon as the music ended, Ecthelion’s soldiers marched back and Salgant and his warriors slipped back into the crowd.
“Attention!”
Once again, the sound of thousands of armored elves aligning with each other in perfection echoed in the courtyard. It was something like a loud whisper, but it was one that awed the crowd.
“Present arms!”
Swords were raised so that hilts were eye-level and bows were brought forward. The squires began to lower the flags dutifully as the battle song was heard from the flautists. Emotions of the crowd were mixed: Some watched silently, and others wept with each other. On the balcony of the tower that overlooked the courtyard, Idril stood with an impassive look she had acquired from her father. The crown rested upon her brow and she solemnly watched as her father called forward the heralds.
Each herald came forth with a pole on which the flags would be flown. Their synchronized movements had not been practiced together, but each knew exactly what to do and when. It was like watching an odd interlude from a play, thought Glorfindel as he watched Erestor attach the scarlet and sable standard to the pole he held. Glorfindel’s gaze wandered to Mirdirin, who, despite having been discharged some years prior, executed his task perfectly before marching back to stand beside Glorfindel.
Once the squires were back beside their lords as well, Ecthelion marched forward to the king. He knelt before Turgon in reverence and then stood back up and saluted. “Sir, the flags are secured.”
Turgon saluted Ecthelion in return, and the Lord of the House of the Fountain marched back to his battalion. As soon as he was in place, the music of the flutes stopped.
“Forward, march!” Turgon stepped forward, and the whole of the army followed him, parting down the middle in order to walk around the fountain. They converged again before parting once more in order to avoid walking into the side of the tower. The second time they rejoined, they did not part again, and walked through the city to the gates.
Now the battalions had to reorganize, and marched through in groups of two, with Turgon and Rog at the front and Ecthelion and Glorfindel at the rear. Behind the soldiers were the horses, over one-thousand, and most from the Golden Flower. Some were merely saddled, while others pulled carts with supplies, weapons, and equipment. Pages led them out, two horses per young elf, but the pages would only bring the horses to the final gate, where Turgon would call for the troops to be at ease long enough to reassemble so that the lords and their officers were mounted.
The wind had picked up slightly, and the breeze was welcomed by the armored troops. As Glorfindel mounted Lemon Drop, he heard someone nearby laugh loudly. It was the first laughter he had heard since the beginning of the ceremony, and he looked to see Voronwe and Celebrimbor chuckling to one another. “What did I miss?” asked Glorfindel as Mirdirin and his horse trotted up beside him.
“Nothing, m’lord,” answered Voronwe quickly, too quickly, and he and Celebrimbor pulled their horses off to the side.
Glorfindel frowned, but Laiqalasse, who was riding with Galdor’s company, coaxed his horse closer and said, “It was an inappropriate comment, Lord Glorfindel.”
“Oh?” Glorfindel looked to the retreating pair and then back at Laiqalasse. “Just what did they say?”
Laiqalasse looked quite embarrassed, but said, “Celebrimbor mentioned that there was no use for your herald, because your hair is the same color as your banner and everyone can see that better anyway, to which Voronwe replied that he thought you were someone’s lady friend, not one of the soldiers.”
Glorfindel sighed and glanced over his shoulder to see that his hair, lifted up by the breeze, fluttered behind him like the banner raised overhead did. “This is going to be a long march,” he muttered.
Curious in nature, a dozen or so additional creatures had decided to make the trek along with the elves and horses. Among the regimented soldiers and equines trotted a cat here and a cat there, all residents of the stables that Glorfindel owned. Perhaps friends of the horses they cohabited with, or perhaps bored of life in Gondolin, or perhaps adventurous. No matter the reason, they scampered along and provided for entertainment on an otherwise tedious and worrisome journey.
The army had come to a place to rest for the night. At the moment, a large white and black cat was resting against Glorfindel, half on his lap and half on the ground. A centipede appeared up from a hole in the ground, and before it could escape, the cat was upon it.
“Good thing we have lembas,” remarked Egalmoth as they watched the cat devour the wriggling creature with delight.
“You can actually survive quite well on a diet of beetles and insects.” Laiqalasse’s comment was met with crinkled noses. “They are high in protein and they hardly have any aftertaste.”
Ecthelion pulled a face. “Good to know.”
“No, really.” Laiqalasse stood up. “I will be right back,” he promised as he disappeared into the crowded camp.
“Is he going to make us eat bugs?” Ecthelion asked Galdor. Galdor shrugged. “I think I am already full.”
“They are not all that bad,” Galdor explained. “You just need to get past the crunchiness of some of them. Worms are better, though, you really need to collect them right after the rain so you can find the fat, juicy ones.”
Glorfindel swallowed hard and almost choked on the idea of eating worms. “That seems unsanitary.”
“Have you eaten this stuff before?” asked Egalmoth of Galdor. Galdor nodded. “Now I am intrigued.”
“If you try them. then I will,” offered Ecthelion.
Glorfindel forced a cough in order to cover a gag. “I think I shall pass.”
“What, are you afraid of a little bug?” teased Ecthelion.
“No, I am... just not very hungry anymore.”
Galdor smirked as he picked up his tin cup of coffee and flicked and ant from the handle. “What are you going to do if we run out of food and have to resort to eating insects?”
“Starve, I guess,” said Glorfindel as Laiqalasse returned with a kettle and a grin.
Laiqalasse sat back down in his spot and held out the pot. Everyone but Glorfindel leaned forward to peer inside. “Those big brown ones are a little bland, but you can find them all over. I did not go digging for worms, but I did find some caterpillars, which are almost as good. You have to make sure you look for these with the green spots because a lot of the really fuzzy ones are poisonous. They can be boiled in water or speared on sticks and roasted over flames.”
“Can you eat them raw?” asked one of the other officers who was sitting with them.
“Some of them. Those larva, they are a little like candy, with the texture of marshmallow on the outside with a creamy filling. But, they taste like chicken.” Laiqalasse plucked one out of the pot and popped it into his mouth.
Glorfindel coughed, put his hand over his mouth, and nearly lost his supper. The rest of the group he was sitting with turned to him abruptly, including the cat, who had been deeply interested in bathing herself. He felt his eyes water and his stomach churn as he stood up and excused himself. “I just remembered that I need to check on my horse,” he said as he stepped away from them. He bumped awkwardly into another group that was sitting behind him, and after making his apologies, hurried away from the upsetting culinary discussion.
Somehow, he knew if he just walked in the direction he felt he should instead of taking a logical path, he would find Erestor. He did indeed, and found Erestor and Duilin some distance from the majority of the army. They had been assigned perimeter watch, though it was yet early and they were still resting on the ground instead of patrolling as they would later. “How is the morale of the company?” asked Duilin as Glorfindel approached.
“Fairly well, I think, though their taste in cuisine is highly lacking.” Glorfindel sat down in a spot where he could face both of his friends. He noted that both had been writing before he interrupted, and he offered to leave them in peace.
“There is no reason for you to go, Glorfindel. Neither of us has been very productive. I have only scribbled the names of some characters for which I have no play, and Erestor... what do you have, Erestor?” asked Duilin.
“I have a title,” he answered with pseudo-pride. “Actually, I have three titles, but no poetry.”
“I suppose this is not the best place for creativity,” said Glorfindel.
Duilin shook his head. “But it will vex me if the greatest play ever to be written comes to me in the midst of battle and vanishes upon the final stroke of my sword.”
“What sort of thing are they eating over there that is disturbing you?” wondered Erestor as he closed his journal and tucked it away.
“Insects. The cat did it, and now they are following suit.” Glorfindel frowned when there were no immediate objections. “Please tell me neither of you have eaten bugs.”
“Not I,” said Duilin, “though I have heard of it.”
Erestor shook his head, and said, “I have eaten spider, though.”
“Spiders?” Glorfindel looked squeamish again.
“Not the little ones, mind you. The big ones, however, were something of a delicacy in Valinor. They were a little like frog legs, but easier to catch wild and harder to raise in captivity.”
“Then that means you have eaten frog,” deduced Glorfindel. Erestor nodded. “Why would you eat a frog? They are so small.”
“Why would you eat a cow? They are so cute,” Erestor countered.
Glorfindel tilted his head to the side. “You have a point.”
“What I want on the menu is dragon,” said Duilin. “You would think from all the scales that they would be tough, but they are tender and sweet.”
“When have you ever eaten dragon?” asked Erestor. His question was laced with incredulity, but Duilin simply said, “Here and there.”
Glorfindel’s mind was taking the same path, and he said, “I thought that dragons did not appear until after Gondolin’s gates were shut. I know I have never seen one, except for the books which time to time are brought in by messengers. I am quite sure I have never heard of an establishment serving dragon.”
“Not the Úruloki that Morgoth created; the ones that can fly. I am sure he has some of those in his thrall, and even if he does not, they are dangerous on their own and haunt the place we are going to. We had one attack Nevrast before we left, and that is how I know what dragon tastes like – real dragon, not Maia who want to be fire-breathing lizards.”
“Oh! We called those cold-drakes,” said Glorfindel without thinking.
Duilin looked at Glorfindel curiously. “I believe that is what the Elves of Dorthonion called them.”
“Well, I... suppose the term must have made its way around.” Glorfindel hoped his explanation would not lead to more discussion on the matter. His worries were unfounded, for the sky was darkening and both Duilin and Erestor stood up and stretched before bidding Glorfindel a good evening so that they could attend to their duties.
Glorfindel wandered back to the area where he had left his gear. It seemed that most had left in search of a fire they could use to cook their insects, and had not yet returned, though Ecthelion had remained to hold the spot. “How is your horse doing?” he asked as Glorfindel sat down.
“Fine,” answered Glorfindel.
Ecthelion almost mentioned to Glorfindel that the horses were being kept in the opposite direction, but chose instead to carry on a polite conversation regarding the weather. “It looks as if the winds will continue and the rain will hold off for a few days at least.”
“That is good,” said Glorfindel.
There was a long pause, and then Ecthelion said, “Hopefully, Morgoth will not send out any balrogs or dragons to scout our whereabouts.”
“Does he even know we are coming?” asked Glorfindel. “And if he does, how could he know the direction?”
“You never know. You just never know.” Ecthelion laid out his bedroll for the night.
Glorfindel did the same and said, “Probably be easier to bring it down if it was a dragon.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Ecthelion.
“I just assumed, since some of you have experience with dragons, it would be easier.”
“What are you talking about?”
Glorfindel paused and looked up at Ecthelion. “The dragon that came to Nevrast that was killed. I assume some of the soldiers here dealt with that incident.”
“There was never a dragon in Nevrast,” corrected a confused Ecthelion. “Who told you that?”
“Oh... I... I thought I read it somewhere,” he lied.
“No, there were no dragons in Nevrast. That I would have recalled,” said Ecthelion with a slight chuckle. “You can hardly forget a dragon.”
“I suppose so,” answered Glorfindel. “I must have read the story wrong.”
“That must have been it,” agreed Ecthelion as their companions returned from their insect eating adventure and settled in for the night.
