Beyond Canon
RSS


- Text Size +
Glorfindel tried not to reveal his trembling hands as he presented the bloodied whip back to King Turgon. He refused to look at anyone as he stepped back in place beside Ecthelion and avoided the gazes of the three elves only a few feet away.

“The task has been carried out. Are you satisfied?” Turgon looked to Salgant, waiting for his answer.

It seemed for a moment that the Lord of the Harp was about to object for some reason. This angered Glorfindel, and he gritted his teeth behind pursed lips to keep himself in check. He had made it thirty strikes before Turgon took the whip from his hands, seeking to quell the disgruntled murmurs of the scorned. The king struck three times, splitting the skin open on Erestor’s back with each blow. “Continue,” he had instructed, haphazardly dropping the weapon back into Glorfindel’s hands. “And do not count mine,” he added as the golden elf shakily repositioned himself.

He had tried so hard not to hurt Erestor any more than he had to, but the wounds made it nearly impossible not to tear at his flesh. Each line of red that sliced across Erestor’s body was a stab at Glorfindel’s soul. Tears stung his eyes as he completed his task, but not once had Erestor cried out or shied from the whip; Glorfindel refused to allow the others any amount of pleasure at seeing their pain.

“Fine, then.” Salgant took a step forward, no doubt intent upon speaking to Erestor, his fingers posed to force the bound elf’s chin to face him. Turgon interceded.

“I think it best,” he said quietly, “if, from now on, the two of you avoided one another. Starting now.” Turgon pointedly looked to the archway leading to the hall.

With a cough of disdain, Salgant waddled to the door, followed by Duilin. Egalmoth paused, and with a false look of regret said, “I shall call for a healer and someone to take him down.”

“Are you King now that you make such directives before me?” demanded Turgon.

Egalmoth took a step back in shock. “No, m’lord. I only thought-“

“I shall do the thinking, thank you.” Turgon stepped away from Ecthelion and handed Glorfindel the whip again, and then walked to Egalmoth, placing his hand upon the elvenlord’s shoulder. “The night has been long, you were not correctly considering your words.”

“No, m’lord,” answered Egalmoth after he was given a chance to respond.

“Let us leave; we have matters to speak of.” When Egalmoth looked over his shoulder, Turgon added, “Worry not. Someone will take care of this.”

Once alone, Glorfindel flung the whip to the ground, causing it to leave a streak of blood in its wake. His fingers flew to untie the ropes that suspended Erestor.

“Careful, here, let me help you.” Ecthelion moved around to support Erestor so that when the last knot was loose and Erestor’s legs gave out, he did not hit the floor. “We should take him to a healer,” Ecthelion said absently.

“No, if we do that, everyone will find out about this,” argued Glorfindel. Retrieving Erestor’s discarded shirt, he held it gently against the wounds and then lifted Erestor away from Ecthelion and into his own arms. “I will take him back to his room. I can care for him.”

“Glorfindel, he should really-“

“My mother was a healer; I know enough!” snapped the younger elf. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, and said, “I am sorry, Ecthelion. It pains me that I am the cause of this. Let me make peace with myself by caring for him.”

Finally, Ecthelion nodded. “We can take some of the hidden passages so that no one sees us. Come, I shall lead the way.”
You must login (register) to review.