After the House of the Harp was picked clean, Erestor and Thrangorn were marched out of the house, their hands bound behind them to prevent any sudden retaliation. They were led through the gardens and across the courtyard. In the few days since the takeover of Gondolin by the enemy, much had been done. Fires were burning in large pits where the naked bodies of the dead had been thrown once stripped of everything of value, including wedding rings that were cut from hands if they could not be taken off. Even the precious and priceless hair of the elves who had fallen had been harvested and lay in bundles in carts that they passed.
It was a long, silent walk all the way to the barracks that once housed the soldiers of the House of the Fountain. It was a building that long ago served both Ecthelion’s house and the soldiers of the Golden Flower, but population explosions led to an addition being built and eventually to Ecthelion needing to overtake the entire facility.
The building had been reworked into a base of operation for the orcs. As Erestor walked in, he found that many of the orc commanders were gathered around a map of the city, plotting out their course of action. Stairs led down to a barracks area, which is where he and Thrangorn were pushed.
They stumbled down the steps in the darkness, and found that the furniture had been cleared out. The many cots, tables, and desks which formerly were available to the soldiers had been taken up to the first level to be used for firewood. The remaining area was barren, with the exception of a pile of bedding that had been discarded from the beds, and four thin elves, huddled together in the corner where the blankets were piled. A wall of bars had been constructed between the stairway and the main area, effectively creating a large jail cell. “Get in,” demanded the orc that had brought them there. He shoved Erestor forward after opening the door to the cell; Thrangorn needed no prodding.
A clatter of metal marked the door being closed behind them, followed by the sound of two locks snapping into place. The orc went back up the stairs, and shut the door at the top. Only a little light was visible through the windows near the ceiling of the room.
“Good evening,” said Thrangorn after several minutes of silence. He and Erestor stayed near the door, while the others whispered to one another and looked cautiously at the newcomers. “None of you are from Gondolin, are you?” he asked.
The sole female of the group shook her head. “Hithlum. Myself, and Anglin.”
“Anglin? Anglin, son of Angrod?” Erestor stepped forward and smiled, but it faltered. The warrior he had fought with at Fingon’s Folly was no more than skin and bones, sallow-faced and nearly hopeless looking. The only thing radiant about him was the shining hair of gold, and reality hit him suddenly. “Anglin... your brother...”
“I know.”
“How?” It seemed rude upon second thought, but Erestor’s curiosity could not be assuaged.
“A palantir. Verdev has one, and he made us watch the battle with him. You probably did not notice, but there was a dragon circling the city with another about its neck. It aided Sauron in determining how to attack the city,” explained Anglin.
“I am sorry.” Erestor tried to think of more to say, but only added, “He saved many people with his bravery.”
Anglin bowed his head and looked at the floor thoughtfully. “He always had a way of sacrificing himself for others. I just hoped it would never come to this.”
Eager to speak to Glorfindel’s brother, but not wishing to alienate the rest of the group, Erestor stepped forward and introduced himself. “My name is Erestor; this is my friend, Thrangorn, of the House of the Harp. We seem to have been captured momentarily.”
Anglin did laugh half-heartedly at Erestor’s attempted joke, but the others still sat warily in their nest of blankets. “Erestor is a friend of mine as well. We fought together during the Nirnieath.” Anglin motioned for the Gondolithrim to approach the others. “Let us help to release you from those bonds. They only do that to keep you from running away while they get you here.”
“And where is here, exactly?” asked Erestor. “I mean, I know where in the city we are, but what is the purpose of all of this?”
“This is the prison to keep Verdev’s collection safe until he arrives,” explained Anglin.
One of the other elves stood up and moved around behind Erestor in order to untie the rope. “Verdev likes pretty things. He likes trophies. He keeps a few of us from each city he pillages.”
“Verdev is an orc?” asked Thrangorn, whose hands were being untied by Anglin.
“Not just any orc, but a very powerful orc. Verdev is one of the chief captains of Morgoth.” Anglin tossed aside the rope and motioned to the blankets, that Thrangorn should join them. “He is The Collector. He keeps all of the treasures that are not given to the dragons. Morgoth allows him to keep... pets.” Anglin said this last word as if it was a curse, and Thrangorn unexpectedly shivered when it was said.
“Oh, really?” Erestor picked up the rope after it fell from his hands and coiled it up. He retrieved the rope that had been around Thrangorn’s wrists as well. These he tucked under a corner of the bedding before sitting down on the edge of it. He noticed that none of the elves that had been there to begin with wore shoes, but all had clothing of high quality, if not a little travel-worn. “Are there others, or are the four of you all he has amassed?”
“He... had others. He gets rid of the ones he grows tired of.”
Erestor looked to the elf who had said this, who looked to be the youngest. “I do not believe I caught your name.”
“My name is Ardinir.” He nodded toward the last of the group and said, “He is my uncle, Saeldan.”
Saeldan only nodded his head. He was sitting the furthest back and closest to the wall. “It is late,” he remarked. “Surely, you are both tired,” he said to Erestor and Thrangorn. Thrangorn nodded, though Erestor only sat and listened. “Perhaps we might continue the conversation at a later time, and rest now.”
The female, who had yet to name herself, agreeably burrowed under some of the blankets. The rest soon followed, though Erestor did wait until the others had drifted into reverie before getting up again. He examined the walls of the room, the windows, the bars, the doorway, and even the floor and ceiling, before finally returning to the little nest, where he cocooned himself within one of the sheets until morning.
---
“What do you do?” The first night in the cell with the others had been spent in quiet contemplation, and the next day watching the orcs through the small windows, but tonight Erestor was curious to know just who else he was sharing a dungeon with. The three male elves were all fairly young, and the sole female was around their age as well. Knowing their strengths, he decided, might help in finding a way to escape, and so he took to asking them whatever questions he could think of.
“I was a candle maker,” explained Ardinir. “I came from Doriath.”
“I used to live in Doriath; I do not remember you,” said Erestor.
Ardinir smirked. “I know. You were thrown out before I was born. My mother told me about you. The official stance on it was that you were exiled and died, but that was more of a political fairytale. My mother seemed certain that you were the sort that managed to stay around.”
“I suppose I am.” Erestor nodded toward the next elf. “What about you?”
“Doriath, but I do remember you. I was apprenticing to be an upholsterer when you left.” Saeldan flicked an approaching beetle away from them. It hit the side of the wall and rolled up into a ball. “It was right around the time that Galadriel arrived.”
“I still think she was in on it,” Ardinir interrupted.
“Not this again,” sighed Saeldan.
Erestor raised a brow in interest. “What do you think she was ‘in’ on?” he asked.
“She just had that sense about her. Always knew a little much compared to what everyone else did – and then, those bloody Noldor showed up. Damned spawn of Feanor. Their appearance brought our ruin.”
“And you think she had something to do with the destruction of Doriath?”
“Just that she likely led Maedhros and his brothers to us. Probably helped them navigate their way past the girdle. I would not put it past her. Did you know her?” asked Ardinir.
“Yes,” answered Erestor, with a sour note to his voice.
“Well?” prodded Saeldan. “How did you know her?”
If he expected to have all of his questions answered, Erestor decided he would need to answer of a few as well. “We were betrothed, at one time. A long time ago,” admitted the farmer-turned-actor.
Ardinir frowned. “I suppose you figured out how she is. Or, she just became creepy – reading thoughts and stuff.”
“She never did that to me,” said Erestor. “Actually, she was the one who broke it off.”
“Really?” Ardinir looked Erestor over, as if trying to figure out by sight what the reason might have been. “What did you do?”
“It was what I would not do. She was only interested in a consort. Not a husband, just a lover. I was not about to live my life as someone’s pet.”
Saeldan smirked. “Ironic that you ended up here, then.”
“This is temporary,” said Erestor firmly. “I plan to escape at the first chance I get.”
“Good luck with that,” said Ardinir. “Perhaps you should talk to Anglin about your idea first.”
“Yes. He can tell you what works and what does not.” Saeldan looked around to where Anglin was resting. The blond was on his back, his knees bent, staring up at the ceiling with his arms behind his head. “He has tried no less than eight times to escape.”
“At least I have tried,” he said, his smooth sarcasm making Erestor smile.
Saeldan shook his head. “Tried, and failed. I would not care so much if it were not for the fact that it makes Verdev that much angrier at the rest of us for not stopping you.”
“I had to try. I am not the sort of elf who likes to be caged.”
“Neither am I,” admitted Erestor as he looked around at the four solid walls that surrounded them.
“Are any of us really?” It had been rare for Thrangorn to speak since their capture, but when he did the rest would listen to the quiet butler. “But, some of us can handle the situation a little better than others.”
“I would handle the situation quite well if I knew that it was a certainly that I would be getting out of it!” Anglin turned his head, blond curls flipping over to obscure his vision. “And, not knowing, I must do my best to get out of it myself.”
“My word,” replied Thrangorn, but he seemed less interested in Anglin’s words and more so in his appearance.
“Pardon?” Anglin puffed at his hair, which bounced off to the side, and then back again. He brushed it out of the way.
“At times, I look upon you, and I think I am seeing Lord Glorfindel again. Only, in his younger days,” said Thrangorn. “Long before the wars took their toll upon him.”
“Glorfindel – I know that name,” said Ardinir.
“He was one of the escorts of Princess Ungrateful,” remarked Saeldan. “He was the negotiator.”
Ardinir nodded. “Now I remember. He was the one that actually got into Doriath.”
Erestor and Anglin suddenly became more interested in the conversation. They both began to speak at once, but Erestor deferred to Anglin with a simple hand motion. Anglin sat up and wrapped his arms around his bent legs. “Glorfindel was my brother. Anything you might tell me about him would be appreciated.”
“Anything? Surely, he must have told you of some of his adventures,” said Saeldan. “We only know of him when he briefly came to Doriath.”
“I lived in Dorthonion, and he in Gondolin. We never really knew each other; he left when I was but a few months old. Twice we met, and neither was under the best of circumstances.”
“Then I shall tell you what I know of the quest which he was part of,” offered Saeldan. Ardinir may know some of the details better than I.”
“Hold. You have no rights to cross past the girdle in these woods. Speak; who are you and why do you come this way?”
Before Ecthelion had a chance to dismount and address the guard, Aredhel had thrown back her white hood and peered down upon him, chin slightly pointed upwards. “I am Princess Aredhel, the daughter of King Fingolfin, Lord of Hithlum, sister to King Turgon of Gondolin. I have come seeking passage through your woods.”
“Have you? You have come in vain, white lady,” spoke the chief of the guards. “You are not permitted to pass through these woods, and neither may your escort accompany you even if you were. None of Noldorin blood may cross this border.”
“Surely you jest. We wish not to enter your woods, only to traverse them. I have no desire to stay in your realm any more than you have a desire for me to come within it,” stated Aredhel. Her stallion shuffled his feet nervously.
The guard gave her a stern look, and then laughed heartily. “You must be the one in jest. How asinine you sound; how uncomplimentary your words. I would suggest to you that you turn around now before you further embarrass yourself and your companions.”
“We are very sorry to have disturbed you,” apologized Ecthelion. “We shall be on our way. No doubt there is another route – perhaps one which will be friendlier to our lady’s desires.”
Aredhel reached out and grabbed for the reins of Ecthelion’s horse. When she managed to gain hold of them, she gave the leather a tug. “We are not about to leave,” she scolded him.
“We are not going to be given leave to pass through the forest here,” explained Ecthelion tersely. “You have ruined what chance we might have had, your highness.” He yanked the reins of his horse from her gloved hands. “It would be wise for you to speak very little as we leave.”
Aredhel looked as if she was about to dispute this with the chief of her escort, but before she could another voice spoke.
“Is it only the Noldor with whom you have issue?” asked a soft voice at the rear of the party.
“Their customs of killing kin and their insistence in the use of a vile language would be the main reason for their inability to enter this realm,” said the guard. “Are you about to tell me that there is a Sinda in your midst, or a rather ignorant Teleri?”
“Nay. Only I.” A butter-colored mare stepped forward, and her rider was wrapped in a velveteen cloak of pine green, with gold embroidery upon the edges and a golden braid draped across his throat. “My ancestors hailed from the mountains of Valinor, and though I live in a Noldorin realm, even they count me among my Vanyarin brethren.” With those words, Glorfindel revealed himself, pushing his hood back with both hands. His blond locks tumbled down his back, freed from their bondage of the journey. “I wish to speak with your King, if permitted to do so.”
“We have no quarrel with you, Vanya. The pure light of your people is in your eyes, friend.” The guard extended his arm out, and motioned down the path that would lead to Menegroth. Glorfindel bowed his head in thanks, and rode forward. “The rest of your party must stay here,” reiterated the guard as Aredhel attempted to nudge her horse forward to follow Glorfindel.
Glorfindel tugged his horse around sideways. “What if they were my prisoners?” he asked.
“Well, I never!” huffed Aredhel.
“Yes, we know,” muttered Egalmoth, whose patience was waning.
“The King’s decree is very firm. If you seek to speak with him, you may, but until he gives his permission the rest must stay here,” said the guard.
Ecthelion gave the remainder of the party a stern look. “We will await Glorfindel’s return on the outskirts of the border. Glorfindel?”
The blond warrior lifted his head and gaze to Ecthelion. “Sir?”
“I hope you know what you are doing,” said Ecthelion.
Glorfindel only nodded, and led his horse down the path. He was soon flanked by two guards: the one who had greeted them, and another whom he had not noticed. Both were on foot, so he slowed the pace of his horse.
“We can keep up,” assured the newcomer.
Glorfindel shook his head. “There is no need for that,” he told them. “In fact...” He tugged on the reins and dismounted. “Go back to Ecthelion, Parchment,” he said as he rubbed the horse’s neck. He patted her on the hindquarters and gave her a little shove. “Go on. There are caves here, girl. You want to be out there, out in the sunshine in the fields. Go.” Glorfindel waited until the horse was trotting on her way back to the clearing before he resumed along the path with the others.
“So, you hail from Gondolin as well?” asked the mysterious elf walking to Glorfindel’s left.
“I come from the pine forests, from the land of Dorthonion,” explained Glorfindel.
“Noldor territory,” snorted the chief guard.
“Never mind Mablung. He is bitter about them.” The mysterious one held out his hand. “I am Beleg Cuthalion, master of the woods.”
“You are a hunter, then?” asked Glorfindel.
“In a manner of speaking. I hunt, when I need to. Most of the time, I find myself hunting orc these days,” he said angrily. “Foul beasts have ruined our woods.”
“It is good that King Thingol has such dedicated men in his employ,” reasoned Glorfindel.
“I hardly do this for the King, though it pleases me that it pleases him,” explained Beleg. “It is more for the safety of my sister that I have concerns.”
Glorfindel looked around the area, taking in the sights and sounds of the forest forbidden to his fellows and their fair lady, the very forest that Erestor was banished from. “Is your sister a hunter like yourself?” he asked.
“Nay. She is a songbird, a gentle creature at home in the woods. She lives here,” he said, spreading his arms about him. “She cannot be coaxed to come into the caves, and so I stay here as much as I am able, and protect the woods as well as I am able.”
“It must be very difficult for you,” Glorfindel sympathetically guessed. “It must be hard, to leave your family in the caves when you are here, and to leave your sister in the woods when you are there.”
“I have no family, save for Nellas,” Beleg said. “She is the only one I have, and I, the only one she has.” Beleg then smiled, and looked past Glorfindel. “Perhaps that is not entirely true. My sister does have another protector in our solemn guardian.”
“I would gladly give my life to protect her,” admitted Mablung, and his voice was stern and serious, and his face was sullen and somber. Glorfindel only nodded in reply, unsure of how to proceed in the conversation.
As it turned out, Beleg was a fairly decent conversationalist himself, and thus asked of Glorfindel, “What family have you left in Dorthonion, or have they come with you to Gondolin? I had always thought Gondolin was filled only with the vilest of Noldor and the most ignorant of Sindar.”
“That is not true, my friend. Though there are what we might call slayers of kin within Gondolin’s fair gates, not all are so inclined. The majority, in fact, are at odds with the thoughts and wishes of Feanor’s sons. They followed King Turgon in hopes of finding a land where they could be free from those worries.” Glorfindel sighed, his thoughts on his own plight. “We have a diverse population – a mixture of Noldor and Sindar, and many intermarriages between them.”
“But alas, only one Vanya,” said Beleg.
“Yes, well, I have adapted to that.” Glorfindel nodded, as if needing to convince himself. “Everyone has been very welcoming of my heritage.”
“Of course they have. Everyone wants to have the Vanya in their realm.”
“How so?” asked Glorfindel. “Why should I be so different from the others?”
Beleg stopped and Glorfindel followed suit. Mablung walked a little further before doubling back. “Have you looked at yourself? Ever?” Beleg circled around Glorfindel. “Why does a horse master gather the finest stallions? Why does a cook bake with the best ingredients? Why does a Noldorin King keep a Vanya in his court?”
Glorfindel looked down at the trampled path they were taking. “I suppose. I like to think there is something more about it. How I attained my position, that is. Intelligence or chivalry or—“
“Do not delude yourself, friend.” Beleg started down the path again. “I would not be surprised if our King makes a vain attempt to stall you here for what time he can.”
---
In the court of King Elu Thingol, Beleg’s expectations held true. As soon as Glorfindel was introduced, Thingol’s eyes lit up that those of a child on Tarnin Austa who comes to the feast for the first time. In fact, a feast was immediately planned, and unbeknownst to Glorfindel, he was seated that evening beside Master Saeros, in the same seat where Erestor once sat as Chief Counselor to the King.
Late that night, he spoke with Thingol, with Melian standing beside the throne. Though well-spoken, his words fell upon deaf ears.
“My companions and I wish only permission to travel through your lands to reach our destination. We have no plans to linger longer than needed. I will claim full responsibility for any actions which may be deemed undesirable,” explained Glorfindel. “It is true, that they are Noldorin, at least in part, though they are not allied with the sons of Feanor.”
“All Noldor, whether they wish it or not, who have traveled from the west, are indeed both friends and allies of that foul murderer.” Thingol leaned forward, his hands joined with fingers steepled together. “What of you, Lord Glorfindel? Why the desire to be loyal to the rogues who travel with you?”
“I serve King Turgon, and follow his orders as given. I would suspect that your own Lords and soldiers do much the same as I,” said Glorfindel carefully.
“Aye, except that there are no other lords here. As a lord, you undoubtedly make decisions of your own – a decision to be loyal, for instance.”
“I know what you are attempting,” said Glorfindel. “While I am honestly flattered that you would wish me to join the ranks here, I fear my presence would both displace others far more loyal to you, and upset the balance we have in Gondolin. I thank you for the unspoken offer, but must decline. Still, my question remains unanswered. Will you give your consent to allow us travel through your realm?”
Thingol turned his head and looked to Melian. “What answer shall I give? Long have my rules stood. To change them now... we must have balance.” He lowered his voice and said to his wife only, “Bring forth your apprentice. Ask her opinion on the matter.”
Melian gave Glorfindel a hard, long look. “She is coming,” said the Ainu, and she turned and spoke to her husband in a language unknown to Glorfindel. He shook his head and looked to the doors of the throne room as they opened.
Into the chamber came a tall, lithe figure, wearing all silver and white. Her hair was long and held back by an intricate silver crown that was braided into her silver-blond tresses. She walked soundlessly across the marble floor, reaching midway before she stopped, and in a low voice said, “I see grave danger in the future.” She approached Glorfindel slowly, and circled him in a fashion similar to that of Beleg. “You are familiar to me,” she said. She stopped and looked directly into his eyes.
They both stood for some time, he looking up and she looking down, until something caught her attention. She narrowed her gaze, and then stepped back as if burned. Her head turned and she focused upon Melian. “He carries the mark of Morgoth upon him.”
“My wife saw the same,” confirmed Thingol. He stood and lifted his scepter, pointing the ruby hilt toward Glorfindel. “You must leave.”
“Excuse me, but perhaps you might enlighten me,” said Glorfindel as a door behind Thingol opened and Mablung entered with a pair of guards in matching garb. “What is this ‘mark of Morgoth’ you speak of?”
“Your blood is the blood of his enemy. You might call yourself Vanya, but he calls you Noldo.” Thingol spat down onto the floor after saying this. “You must leave, and leave now. May Eru have mercy on your soul.”
Glorfindel was now surrounded by a trio of guards with hands upon the pommels of their swords. “I suppose this negates any future visits,” he said in the direction of the forboding female who still stood some meters away.
“Mablung, see that he finds his way back to the borders,” insisted Thingol.
Hours later, Glorfindel was remounting his horse. “No luck?” asked Egalmoth, who had been tending a fire and keeping watch.
“Get them up. We must make haste and go now, before morning.” Glorfindel adjusted his gear as Egalmoth took up the task of waking the others and putting out the fire.
“Not as easy as you thought it would be, was it?” asked Ecthelion as he drew his cloak around him and fastened it. Glorfindel did not answer. “Kings rarely listen to Lords of other lands. Well, you tried. I appreciate that.”
Aredhel joined them, her shoulders slumped. “My cousin just farspoke to me. I will not allow such embarrassment to be conveyed to Gondolin. If anyone should ask, we were denied passage and made no attempt to negotiate.” She glared at Glorfindel. “We missed prime travel time because of this fault. Do not let it happen again.” She stomped away to retrieve her horse, and Ecthelion raised his hand as soon as Glorfindel opened his mouth.
Once Aredhel was out of range to hear them, he said, “Leave it be. She is not worth it.”
“She should not act like such a spoiled little girl,” snarled Glorfindel.
“Ah, but what else does she know?” Ecthelion shrugged. “Leave it. Just ignore it. Worry not; it will be mere hours before Egalmoth or I fail to appease her, and she will all but forget your transgression.”
“See? Galadriel is an evil witch,” said Ardinir. “How else do you explain that? The ‘mark of Morgoth’? Utter nonsense! I have heard of no such thing.”
“I have heard it before, that he marked the children of his greatest enemies,” said the sole female occupant of the cell. Her name was Eliel, and Erestor had earlier discovered that she had once been one of King Fingon’s maids. “In fact, I heard it often, that Morgoth was specifically targeting the children of Feanor and Fingolfin.”
“Morgoth cares very little who he manages to kill, so long as he manages it. If he was truly targeting the progeny, why did he let Verdev have me?” Anglin had slowly moved closer and closer so that now he was huddled in the circle with the others. “I have such great hatred for Morgoth, and yet I know that such hatred is not natural and does me no good. It only clouds my abilities.”
“He did a good job of it. Morgoth, that is.” Erestor was staring at the wall. “He killed them all. Mablung... Aredhel... Ecthelion... Beleg... Glor--” He swallowed back the last name. “Damn his greed.”
“His greed? What of the Noldorin greed?” asked Ardinir. “They might have left well enough alone, and none of this would have happened.”
“So, Feanor should have allowed his greatest work to be stolen, but it was just for Thingol to ask for and accept a stone which he had no true claim over.” Erestor nodded. “Sounds like Sindarin logic to me.”
Before a full-blown argument could begin, Thrangorn settled his hand upon Erestor’s shoulder. “You must excuse Lord Erestor. Too much has happened in such a short time, and he is not one to often quarrel thusly. Perhaps we should take rest and meditate upon the situation,” said the butler, the last sentence directed towards Erestor, who only nodded.
“Of course. A predicament such as this tends to cloud one’s mind.” Saeldan sounded as if he meant what he said, but the dark look he gave Erestor told another story. “Rest well, last of the Gondolithrim.”
If the words were meant to annoy Erestor, they succeeded, but he decided to keep his strength in reserve. Under normal circumstances, he might have liked to have debated Saeldan, but petty arguments seemed rather petty at the moment.
Unforgivable by Zhie