Something horribly sharp smelling assaulted Glorfindel’s nose. He coughed and turned his head. The side of his face felt numb, as did his fingers when he tried to sit up and get away from the unpleasant odor.
“There we are. You scared us.” The healer was capping a bottle as Glorfindel opened his eyes. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her bag open in her lap. Surrounding the bed were Duilin, Erestor, Aranel, Tauniel, and Neralien. “Glorfindel, what is the last thing you remember?”
“I was in the other room with Salgant and Duilin, and then we came in here... I had trouble sleeping, so I took the painkillers from the table.”
“How many did you take?”
“All of them.”
The healer shook her head. “I should have administered them myself instead of leaving them here. You took far too much; you might have died.”
“I must have overslept,” he said. His sight was blurring in and out of focus and he settled back against the pillows as a dizzy spell hit him.
“Glorfindel, you have been asleep for a day and a half. We were very worried.” Tauniel moved closer and took hold of her husband’s hand. “How are you feeling?”
“A little... not quite here. Like I am above myself. Does that make sense?” Glorfindel asked.
With a little smile, the healer said, “I guess that answers the question as to whether you are feeling any pain or not.”
“I am, but it seems far away. As if... I know it hurts, but it does not hurt because I am not connected to it.”
“I think you can do without another dose until morning. I will be back personally to tend to you.” The healer made a check on the various injuries that Glorfindel had, and removed the bandages from his face, revealing the gashes and infection had healed, but there was a scar beneath his eye and another fainter one down the side of his face to his chin. “You are looking much better. I will be back tomorrow.”
“If you like, m’lady, I could fix the room up to be suitable for you. I am sure that I could procure a dressing gown and robe for you,” offered Neralien.
It took Tauniel a moment to understand that she was the one being addressed. “Oh, no, thank you. I will not be staying the night. Glorfindel is going to need his rest.”
“We could set up another room for you if you would prefer,” said Neralien. “I imagine it must be difficult to be apart. It would not be a bother for me to do, if you would like to be close to your husband. The guest room next door is vacant, in fact.”
Tauniel looked at Glorfindel urgently, and squeezed his hand. Understanding the message, he said, “I think Tauniel will be more comfortable in familiar surroundings. I shall be alright. More than likely, I will just sleep again.”
“You may sleep only after you have some supper. Lord Salgant insists,” added Neralien before Glorfindel could object. She left the room, mentioning something about soup that Glorfindel did not hear as she went.
“I think when Tauniel goes back, I will walk with her, since it is so dark out.” Aranel touched Erestor’s shoulder and asked, “Will you be returning with us, or did you want to stay a little longer?”
“I have a few things I wanted to speak to Glorfindel about, if he is up to it. Salgant also wants to finish our meeting that was interrupted earlier.” Erestor moved out of the way as Neralien wheeled in a wooden cart with a tray of various foods on it. The soup was steaming in a large bowl, and fresh flowers had been placed in a vase. “Do not worry about waiting up for me,” Erestor added to Aranel, giving her a quick hug.
Neralien brought the cart to the bedside, and after she cleared the items from the table beside the bed, moved the bowl and vase down onto that. “Excuse me,” she said, reaching around Tauniel to fold the blankets down to Glorfindel’s waist, and then the tray was lifted, the legs extended, and it was settled on the bed. The bowl was replaced, and Neralien picked up the spoon, holding it out to Tauniel.
Tauniel flinched, and shook her head. “No, thank you, I am not hungry. I will come to see you tomorrow, Glorfindel.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek before she hurried out of the room with Aranel right behind her.
“How dense can you get?” mumbled Neralien.
“Not in front of the guests,” snapped Duilin. “She is Glorfindel’s wife and you will show proper respect.” Neralien curtseyed at once and apologized to both Erestor and Glorfindel.
“Well, I certainly did not marry her for her vast intelligence,” said Glorfindel, hoping to lighten the mood. He sighed when everyone remained solemn. “If Salgant wants me to eat, I had best do so now before I am tempted to sleep again.”
Neralien pulled a stool to the bedside and dipped the spoon into the thick, creamy soup. “I hope you find this to your liking, m’lord.”
For a little while, there was limited conversation. Duilin leaned against the doorway and Erestor stood at the window looking out, watching Aranel and Tauniel take the path back to the tower. The calm abruptly ended when Neralien asked Glorfindel, “Is your wife always like that.”
Duilin scowled and marched over to the maid. He plucked the spoon from her hand and set it onto the tray, firmly wrapping his other hand around her upper arm. “Excuse us,” he growled tersely as he yanked her out of the room and then from the suite as the door slammed behind them.
“That was... interesting,” remarked Glorfindel.
Erestor let the curtain fall back into place and sighed. “She managed to upset him twice earlier. Whilst I was speaking with Salgant, I could hear Duilin in the hallway threatening to spank her. I am not quite sure how idle that threat was.”
“Huh. I wonder if everyone deals with their servants like that.”
“More or less, from what I have observed,” Erestor said.
Glorfindel picked up the spoon and swirled it in the soup. “Makes me happy I have none. I do not think I would know how to deal with them.”
“So, what happened to you?” demanded Erestor after he took a good look at Glorfindel.
“Hmm?”
“Your, uh...” Erestor made a motion towards his own hair and then nodded at his friend.
“Oh.” Glorfindel set the spoon back down and sighed. “Salgant’s Salon of Horrors. At least Duilin cut it straight.”
Erestor made a face and asked, “Was that straight when he was drunk, or while you were medicated?”
“Maybe both? I thought it was straight...” trailed off Glorfindel as Erestor handed him a mirror he had found on top of the dresser.
“I take it back; it is straight, but it also at an angle.”
Glorfindel groaned and tugged on the ends of his hair, which was shorter on one side. “I suppose I can worry about it later after I have healed. Since I have no intention of going out in public for a while, I can just leave it.”
“Maybe now would be a good time to let you know that you are expected to attend the banquet the king is holding tomorrow night.”
“Seriously?”
“Turgon wants to honor the fallen, and he expects all of the house lords and heralds to be there, as well as anyone else who can make it.” Erestor looked Glorfindel over and said, “I think you should be able to walk if you take it slow. As for your hair, we can stop at Oronion’s before we go to the tower. Thankfully, your bangs are even.”
“Perhaps Oronion can fix my hair, but I doubt he can make these gashes go away. I cannot go to the banquet looking like this,” argued Glorfindel as he ran his fingers along the slashes on his face.
Erestor sat down on the bed beside Glorfindel and peered at the reflection that he was fussing about. “Have you seen some of the other soldiers yet? Not all of them came out looking as well as you do.” Glorfindel grumbled, but did not argue this. “There are so many who have lost limbs or sight, and many who lost their lives. I can sympathize with you regarding your hair,” he said, running his hand through his own short style. “I hate this. Passionately. It looks like shit, moreso on me than on you. I feel very exposed without it. But guess what? It grows back. As for your scars, they will diminish in time. Did you see mine yet?”
Glorfindel shook his head as Erestor untied the laces of his shirt and lifted it over his head with a grunt. There was linen wrapped around his torso, which he carefully unwound. “I never saw you get hurt,” admitted Glorfindel.
“Second hour of the skirmish, and I tore it open again when we were coming back.” The bandages dropped onto the coverlet, and Glorfindel set the mirror down on the table. “I think it was an orc. It was not until we regrouped that I noticed. Ecthelion patched it up for me.”
“Erestor!” exclaimed Glorfindel after he saw the gash in his friend’s side. “You should be in bed, not I!”
“I am fine.”
“You are still bleeding!” Glorfindel made a move to ring the bell, thinking to request the healer be sent, but Erestor laid a hand upon his shoulder to stop him. “Erestor, you need to have that taken care of.”
“It is healing. It was much deeper before.”
Glorfindel winced when Erestor examined the area, pushing the flaps of unhealed skin away to check for an infection. A little blood oozed from the wound, which Erestor wiped away using a corner of the linen bandage. He tore off the used portion, and then rewrapped his torso. “After seeing that, I do not think I can eat.”
“Yes, you can. You need to eat something, and the soup is better warm. While you eat, let us talk about the gathering tomorrow, and why you are going to go.” Erestor took the opportunity to lie back on the other side of the bed as he said, “We need to be there to support King Turgon. Like it or not, he is now the high king, and we should be there. You also need to acknowledge the contributions of your house in this war. It should be you reading the list of names of the fallen, not Ecthelion or I.”
“Alright, you have me convinced. Actually, you did that showing me your situation. If you can survive through it with your hip gashed like that, I can at least make a brief appearance.”
“Good. Then you need to eat.” Erestor started to sit up, but he was stopped now.
Glorfindel patted Erestor’s shoulder, and then picked up the spoon again. “I can do this on my own. You rest. I doubt you have had much rest all day. Knowing you, you have been taking care of everyone else.”
“I have been in council,” admitted Erestor wearily. “First with Turgon, then with Rog and Galdor, and today with Salgant for a long while.” Dropping his voice, Erestor said, “Sometimes I think Salgant just calls meetings because he likes to hear himself talk.”
“It sounds like your meeting with him was a waste of time.”
“Maybe,” said Erestor. “We have to decide what to do with the theatre, and what to do about the harvest, and the horses, and... well, mostly, there are some developments concerning Enerdhil and Maeglin.”
“Developments? That sounds a bit serious.”
Erestor yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Enerdhil did some interesting things while we were away. My meeting with Salgant was interrupted, so I have not received the full story yet. To make a long story as short as possible, Turgon is extremely upset and there is to be a private trial. It seems, however, that the king is only holding the trial in order to postpone punishment. He already has plans to replace Enerdhil with his nephew.”
Normally, Glorfindel might have begged to know whatever Erestor did, but he was finding it difficult to stay awake. He dropped the spoon onto the tray and said, “I am very interested in learning of Enerdhil’s faults when I am more awake. Perhaps tomorrow you can tell me on the way to the tower.”
Erestor nodded and crawled off the bed with another yawn. “I need to meet with Ecthelion in the morning, so I will visit in the afternoon.”
He gathered everything onto the cart and then crouched down and helped Glorfindel sit up while he fluffed up the pillows for him. This meant Erestor had one arm around Glorfindel’s back, and Glorfindel had his arms looped around Erestor’s neck. As Erestor lowered Glorfindel back down, Glorfindel held fast, which pulled Erestor down against him for a few moments. Erestor indulged Glorfindel with the embrace, and secretly admitted he might have been indulging himself. “Get some rest,” advised Erestor. He moved his head to kiss Glorfindel’s cheek, but half missed and ended up kissing him somewhere near the corner of his mouth and his chin.
Despite his drugged state, Glorfindel’s aim was a little better. He strained to sit up as Erestor was pulling away and managed to brush his lips against his cheek. “You, too. See you tomorrow. Good night.”
“Good night.” Erestor pushed the cart to the doorway and extinguished the candles as he went. He turned back just as he reached the door. The strangest thoughts came to his mind in a jumble. Most of all, he wanted badly to stay. It took all his strength to walk out of the room and close the door behind him. Glorfindel needed rest, and Erestor still needed time to sort out his thoughts.
---
An unease in his sleep caused Glorfindel to awaken. He could hear voices outside below the window. One of them sounded like Salgant. The other was vaguely familiar, but did not speak long enough for him to recognize whom it was. The sweet scent of Salgant’s pipe tobacco wafted into the room, and Glorfindel now noticed that he was not alone in the darkness.
Sitting in a chair brought in from the dining room, Duilin was playing a game of chess against himself, having utilized the replaced serving cart as a table. “Are you alright?” he asked without looking up.
“I think so. I might have had a little too much of the painkillers.” Half thoughts of cloudy dreams escaped him, and he cautiously asked, “Why are you in here?”
“We left Neralien in here to watch over you. She came and knocked on our bedroom door about an hour ago and asked us to see to you. You gave her a fright with what you were muttering in your sleep. Apparently, your father was not a very nice person.”
“No, he was not,” replied Glorfindel before he recalled that he had perpetually claimed not to know his father. “What was I saying?”
“I see no reason to repeat it word for word. I will tell you, however, that it was difficult for Salgant to listen to. His father beat him as a child, too.” Duilin slid a pawn forward. “I sent him outside with Faelion.”
“Oh.” Glorfindel rubbed his eyes, well aware that he still needed more sleep. “I take it whatever I said was fairly revealing.”
“You were not very complimentary towards your father.” Duilin checked himself and then captured the offending pawn. “Not to intrude upon your life, but you were distraught and begging that you be let go. You kept saying you would be a good boy, and then you were sobbing and whining and pleading with your father to stop hurting you. I know it is none of my business, but if this bastard is still alive, I am very close to breaking his neck.”
Slivers of memory rose to the surface. “I was fifteen. My father had me attend the school down the road, which I would walk to and from every day. It was fairly evident from the start how different I was from the other children. For a while, it was just name calling, and then sometimes they would throw rocks at me as I would run home.
“One day, I stumbled on the path. They were upon me before I had a chance to get up again. A few of them were older and bigger, and two of them each grabbed one of my arms and dragged me to a tree. Another one tied my hands together around it, and...”
~~~~~
“Let me go!” shouted Glorfindel, struggling against the ropes. All around him, the other boys were jeering and laughing. “I said, let me go!” His voice wavered and he swallowed hard to keep himself from crying.
“Anglorel, you are such a baby.” One of the boys who had tied him up made a hacking noise in the back of his throat, and spat into Glorfindel’s face. Warm, slimy spittle oozed down the elfling’s cheek, down his throat and beneath the collar of his shirt. A sniffled sob broke through the snickers, and the ringleader scuffed his foot into the dirt, kicking it up into Glorfindel’s face. “Go on, baby, go on and cry!”
The elfling who had brought the rope was sorting through the contents of Glorfindel’s knapsack, pocketing things of interest and leaving undesirable items, such as the primer, on the ground. “Get a look at this,” he said suddenly, pulling out a small knife in a little leather sheath from the bottom of the bag.
“Leave my stuff alone, Pendir!” shouted Glorfindel, although his words were not very convincing. Someone else spit on him, telling him to shut up, and then all of the children gathered around to see the knife.
“Nice blade.”
“Real sharp.”
“Why does he have one like that?”
The boys circled around Glorfindel again, passing the knife around as they approached. “You know, Anglorel is a girl’s name, baby.”
“No, it is not!” Between the tears in his eyes and being spit at, Glorfindel was having difficulty seeing what was going on. He yelped as someone took hold of his hair and yanked his head back.
“Maybe if you did not look so pretty you would not be such a baby.” Whoever had a grip on his hair pulled tighter while Pendir began to hack through with the knife he had kept in his bag. He screeched and screamed until his throat was raw, and then he heard an adult coming near, mostly from the shouts of a few of the boys.
The knife hit the ground with a thud, and the bullies stepped back from him. There was an explanation offered, mumbled with an insincere apology. The boys started to back away, and Glorfindel blinked his eyes, and saw his father staring down at him.
“Stop crying, boy,” said his father sternly, his hard gaze upon him.
Instead of stopping, Glorfindel found himself crying harder as he picked up on the sounds of his peers laughing and muttering insults in the background.
His father drew back his hand and slapped him across the face. “I told you to stop it. You want something to cry about?” he demanded as Glorfindel shook his head but was unable to speak coherently. A thin, fallen branch was retrieved from the ground, and sliced through the air, striking the elfling’s back hard. This was repeated a few dozen times, and the other children backed away and eventually ran back down the path. “There. Now you just stay there and think about it.” The switch was thrown to the ground, and Angrod left his son there for the rest of the night.
~~~~~
“He stopped letting me go to school after that. I stayed home, and when he was upset, he beat me. Actually, there were times when he seemed to be in a good mood, and he still dragged me out of bed to whip me at night. I just started to accept it after a while.” Glorfindel sighed. “I have pushed so many of those memories out of my mind. I have no idea why that came back to haunt me now.”
“More than likely, it was in part my fault.” Duilin drummed his fingers softly against the chess board. The pieces hopped slightly, looking like an anxious army. “You seemed a little traumatized when I cut your hair the other day. There were a few times I hesitated, but I did not realize how much harm I was causing. Had I experienced what you had, I doubt I would let anyone touch my hair.”
“It was worse when I finally managed to untie my hands and make it home. He took one look at me and demanded that my mother ‘fix it’. I remember sitting on the floor staring at the ground while she kept cutting more of it off and he kept telling her to make it shorter. Eventually I was left with just a short, stubbly crop of blond hair. For the rest of the time I lived there, he made her trim it constantly. A couple of times I really upset him, and he had her shave it all off.” Glorfindel set his jaw, refusing to show any emotion. “I think he did it to punish her more than me. He hated her name for me.”
“Then I am truly sorry I brought back such memories.”
Shaking his head, Glorfindel said, “You and Salgant have been nothing but kind to me. It was unintentional, and you had no way of knowing. Besides, what was I going to do? Walk around with long, unattractive, burned hair for the next few years until it grew out?”
Duilin solemnly nodded. “It had to be difficult not to have the support of your father growing up.”
“It was.”
“I wish I could commiserate, but my parents were very kind and loving, so I have a hard time trying to relate to this sort of thing.” Duilin had paused his game to listen to Glorfindel tell his tale, and now he looked around the board to see where he had left off. “Salgant, however, could probably understand better what your feelings are. His father was a piece of work. The two of them never saw eye to eye about Salgant’s love of music.”
“He plays so well. I assumed his parents were supportive; a gift like that is usually honed during childhood,” said Glorfindel.
Duilin shook his head. “Salgant’s father was an athlete. He wanted all of his sons to be boxers, like he was, or to at least do something noble. When Salgant tried to make his case for being a harper and not a fighter, his father took him behind their house and kicked the shit out of him. I saw it from my bedroom window; we were neighbors in Nevrast. It became a nightly ritual as Salgant grew up, for his father to force him to spar in the backyard. It was bloody and brutal, and not the way to earn a child’s love.”
“Obviously, Salgant did not choose that path.”
“Oh yes he did. For a time.” Duilin stood up and exited the room, and came back in after a few minutes with a small, worn album. “These are from Nevrast, after I became a hunter and he was a boxer and wrestler.”
“Really?” Glorfindel opened the book and carefully turned the pages, looking at the sketches and paintings of a very trim and muscled Salgant, with an occasional image of Duilin either in his drab hunting gear or displaying an impressive catch. There were two of them standing together. One showed Salgant proudly holding a trophy over his head while Duilin stood impassively beside him. The second had the two of them, and Egalmoth. All three were in travel clothing, looking rather jovial. “He looks happy about it.”
“Sometimes, the artist had to make the picture smile because Salgant refused to. He was miserable,” recalled Duilin. “His father continued to ‘train’ him, basically cornering him and beating him up in their yard. Then, one night Salgant fought back, really fought back. It was around the time that we were planning on the journey. Again, I watched all of it from my window – only by then, neither of us were children anymore. As lord of my house, I should have done something, but I sat and watched. I suppose I am just as guilty as he is of his father’s death. Maybe I should have intervened, but after everything his father did and said to him, he deserved it.”
Glorfindel handed the album back silently. “So, he killed his own father.”
“Salinwe was not a very good father. It was probably for the best that Salgant did what he did, when he did it. No one seems to quite recall what happened, and it was all swept under the rugs, so to speak.” Duilin turned to the page that showed his friends flanking him. “Besides, Salgant is a much better lord than his father was. His father neglected his people quite often, believing it was far more important for him to train and deal with his fighting matches than to worry about whether or not the people of his house were prospering or starving.” The album was closed and placed aside. “Now you know the truth.”
“I see.”
“No, you do not see.” Duilin moved the white knight to capture the black rook. “In fact, you never heard what I just told you. Just as I did not hear you speak your father’s name in your dreams.”
“Ah. Now I see.” Glorfindel sat up and watched Duilin move the marble pieces. “I... said his name, did I?”
“Aye.” Frowning, Duilin admitted, “We actually coaxed it out of you, but unintentionally. You were writhing about and Salgant knelt by the bed and held your hand and tried to wake you. When you would not come around, he asked who was hurting you, and you answered. Then you began to beg for your father to stop... we put it all together after that.”
Glorfindel nodded, remembering none of it. “If Neralien is still up, will you let her know I am sorry I disturbed her?”
“She has already gone to bed. I will let her know in the morning,” promised Duilin. “Rest, Glorfindel, we can speak more in the morning, if you like. I can tell that you have questions on your mind. Sleep now, while there are fewer eavesdropping ears. It sounds as if Salgant is coming back in; he will probably take over watch. One of us will be here with you through the night.”
“Thank you.” Glorfindel settled back into bed, feeling oddly comforted, and yet uncomfortable not having Erestor with him.
