In the darkened cellar, it was cool in the evenings. The sun did not set for some time, which left a reddish hue in their makeshift cell until just before the moon took over watch in the sky. Erestor decided to make his first escape attempt on the second night of their captivity. There was no sense in waiting around if he could possibly escape successfully now.
Once everyone else was asleep, Erestor retrieved the rope that he had hidden and tied the two pieces together into a longer length. He walked to a spot beneath one of the windows. The windows were more like openings, for there was no glass and they were boarded up in the winter. They were high up, and started right at the level of the ceiling. No more than one half-meter tall and less than a meter wide, the opening would be one that he would need to carefully squeeze through. It would be difficult to do at that height, dangling above the floor. His plan was to utilize the rope that he had.
He looked around for something heavy that he could use to tie to the end of the rope to be used as an anchor. A splintered piece of a table leg, likely broken off when the area was emptied, looked ideal. Erestor grabbed it and tied it around one frayed end of the rope. He then went back to the window and quickly stepped back from it so that he could get a good view of what was outside.
There was a tree not very far away from the window. He judged the distance and how far he would need to throw the rope to reach it. After testing the weight of the wood on the end of the rope, he took aim and swung the rope out of the window. It hooked around the side of the tree, but fell into the grass. When he tried to pull it back, it easily slid across the grass and came back in through the window. He sighed, and tried again. Again, he found that there was no way to gain the leverage he needed at the height and angle he was at.
Erestor sat down on the floor and played with the rope, coiling it in his hands. There were other windows, but he could hear voices near them, and crawling out of a cell where your captors could see you was not a good idea. The only plausible exit was the one he was staring up at.
He stood up so that he could try again. Once again, he failed. This time, he set the rope down onto the floor and rubbed his hands together, then jumped up and grabbed hold of the window ledge. He used all of his strength in order to pull himself up so that he could take a look around.
To his right, there was nothing, only the path that led to the sparring fields. To the left, however, were the stairs that led up into the main floor of the barracks. It was hollow – that is, the steps were only a wooden frame, without being solid or made of stone. There were breaks between the pieces, and a well-placed shot might just hook onto the framework and anchor the rope for him.
It was worth a try, so Erestor hopped down so that he could pick up his rope again. This time, he got close to the wall and pressed himself against it. When he shot the heavy end of the rope out the window, he threw it sideways. It made a clunking noise and he cringed. After a moment, he pulled it quickly back, and then waited to see if anyone heard him. When it sounded as if all was clear, Erestor took hold of the rope again and gave it another go. This time, it swooped through the air, low to the ground, and slid right through two of the beams. When Erestor pulled the rope back, it hooked onto one of the pieces and caught firmly. He smirked and gripped the rope. It was a fast climb, and he excitedly pulled himself out of the window. The rough stone scraped one of his elbows, but he managed to get through. He stood up and brushed the dirt from his clothes.
The rope could still be helpful to him, so he went to the stairs and unwound it from the wood. He coiled up the rope as he turned around and prepared to make his way across to the courtyard to where he might find cover while he decided upon his next course of action. When he looked up, he stepped back in shock to see that there had been a small group of orcs watching him the entire time.
Without thinking, he turned to run the other way. He looked over his shoulder, and noted that the orcs were apparently too shocked to follow. That was his final thought before his foot hit something. He stumbled and fell to the ground hard.
“Brilliant. You escape, and your... whatever this is... decides to turn on you.” A large orc who might have rivaled Rog in size and power, seized the piece of wood that Erestor had tripped on and yanked it up harshly just before kicking Erestor over onto his back. “Pretty stupid to try to escape. Too bad Verdev already knows how many of you were captured, or I would take pleasure in killing you myself.” He threw the wooden leg down at Erestor’s legs, but the Elf’s reflexes kept him from getting hit.
“Furog, leave him be. He provides excellent entertainment.” The comment came from one who was not an orc who stood among them. Erestor craned his neck to see to whom the fair voice belonged, thinking it an Elf. He was surprised to see a Maia, arrayed brilliantly in white, from his fur-lined leather boots to his opal-studded crown.
Erestor’s long years in Valinor meant he had met most of the Ainur who lived in the blessed realm. This particular fellow, however, he could not recall seeing, but it was obvious by his appearance that he was of importance, and when Erestor sat up enough to look into his eyes, saw in their depths knowledge and power, and many years of experience. He looked away swiftly, not wishing this stranger to be read by him.
“You will not find it funny if he escapes.” Furog put his foot down squarely upon Erestor’s chest when he attempted to crawl backwards towards some piles of stacked boxes and crates. “See? Look at him? He is a little weasel!”
“Stifle, Furog.” The Maia removed his white leather gloves with great care and adjusted the many golden and diamond banded rings he wore. “Let the little weasel dance around; the city is too vast, and we are many. He will never escape alive.”
“You obviously underestimate the ability of weasels,” said Erestor. In answer, Furog growled, lifted back his foot, and kicked Erestor in the shoulder, causing the elf to howl in pain.
A number of orcs laughed as Furog continued his assault. As for the Maia, he replaced his gloves and walked away with disinterest. As he left, the sound of someone with heavy footfalls could be heard on the cobbled road that led to the barracks. They scruffled the grass, and stopped. “What is going on here?” The orc stepped closer and looked down. “Is that one of mine? Get him up!”
Furog reached down and pulled Erestor up by the collar of his shirt, nearly choking him. Dirt and stains of grass were on his face and arms and clothing, and there was blood shining upon the corner of his lips and running from his nose. “He tried to escape.”
“Did he? This is the trouble with your brigade, Furog,” snarled the newcomer, who was not so large as Furog, but appeared to be of higher rank. “They stand around like packs of idiots. How many are guarding inside the building?”
“The trouble is not with my soldiers. The trouble is with this one. He needs to be taught a lesson!” Furog had his hand wrapped around the back of Erestor’s neck. “Say the word, Verdev, and I will gladly take care of him.” He flexed his other hand, and the sound of his knuckles cracking caused Erestor to reflexively swallow hard.
Verdev narrowed his eyes at the subordinate orc and motioned for him to let go. Furog squeezed tighter just before loosening his fingers. Erestor quickly stumbled away, coughing as he rubbed his throat. He never thought he would be choosing between two orcs, but now put a little more distance between himself and Furog.
“He does not need to be beaten, as you might think.” Verdev beckoned Erestor forward with a gnarled, crooked finger, much as one might coax a cat out from hiding. “How can you expect any of them to be happy? You have them locked in that basement, away from the sunlight, away from the starlight. If one is going to keep them as pets, one must provide the proper environment.” Now that Erestor was a few feet closer, Verdev regarded him in a voice one might use with a scared child. “Are you alright, pet?”
Erestor, having never before been asked about the condition of his wellbeing by an orc, shrugged. “I think some of your other, ah, pets might be hungry. They looked a little thin, and no one has been in to feed them.”
“On average, elves are very light and eat very little. I am sure they are fine.” Verdev looked Erestor over. “You look a little overweight yourself.”
With an incredulous look, Erestor was about to dispute this, for he had certainly never been referred to as overweight before. However, there were some things that it was worth fighting over, and some things better left unsaid. He decided that this was one of those things best left alone.
“And you, pet? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“I will eat and drink only after the others are cared for properly. If they are truly your pets, you would do well to learn how to care for them.”
Some of the orcs edged away, and others began to gather who had not previously been nearby. It seemed it was not often that anyone challenged Verdev.
“I have yet to find a text or scroll on the care and keeping of elves,” countered Verdev, seemingly amused. “If you know of one—“
“Obviously, we can speak and answer any questions. It would seem your other pets are too afraid to speak to you of these things,” interrupted Erestor.
“Is that so?” Verdev looked Erestor up and down, as if sizing him up for the first time. “Very well. How do you feel about your accommodations?”
“The prison cell you have us locked in?” The fire was fueled, and Erestor could hardly help himself. “It is filthy, cold, and hardly a place to lock a lady.”
Verdev squinted. “You sound like an ellon.”
“I am,” argued Erestor unhappily as some of the orcs around him laughed. “I was referring to the Lady Eliel you have locked away.”
“Ah, yes, my maid. She needed to be locked away. Best for her, to be kept with her own kind. I trust her, of course,” said Verdev. “But without being here, she was best protected by them. Up here, with the rest of my soldiers... I trust them, to a point. I am sure you understand what I mean by that.” The conversation was becoming less condescending as they spoke, as if Verdev was realizing he had not captured a simple elf. “What is it that you were doing here before we arrived?”
The questions were nauseating for Erestor, with the orcs acting as if they had only just showed up and not for any sort of reason which would be upsetting to Erestor. He wondered how detailed he should describe his various occupations, and finally decided upon saying, “Many of us were part of the military, and I was no exception. When I was not training or guarding, I was an actor in the company of the House of the Harp. I was usually in musicals, for I can also sing, dance, and play a variety of instruments – principally, the violin.”
Verdev’s expression brightened as much as an orc’s can as Erestor spoke. “You are an artist, then,” he said, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Excellent. This is a rare treat. I had hoped to add a musician to my collection, and perhaps an actor, but now I have both with the addition of a single elf. What about your friend?”
“He was a butler,” said Erestor.
“Very nice.” Verdev smirked. “Very nice. Tell me, elf, which of the houses in Gondolin is the finest of them all?”
“The Tower of Turgon – oh, but, your dragon destroyed it,” he said bitterly.
Verdev raised a brow. “Perhaps you think it was my dragon, but the dragon belonged to no one. It was assisting my lord, Morgoth. If the tower was indeed destroyed by it, he very handily completed his task as requested.”
Erestor balled his fists at his side, but said nothing.
“Oh, this upsets you. I am sorry, my pet, but I refuse to lie to anyone. The dragon was always the plan for dealing with Fingolfin’s second son and final heir. A balrog for the first, Gothmog no less, and a dragon for the second. We wanted to be sure it was something extraordinary, so that every thread would be woven into tapestries for his father to see. The fires were a sight to behold – visible for miles,” said Verdev proudly as if he himself had lit the first flame. “A pity your king managed to destroy the dragon. He was a fighter to the end, and a fine flyer as well. None of us really thought Turgon had it in him, being such a coward.”
“He was not a coward, and I am not your pet,” growled Erestor. He attempted to step forward, but Furog and two other guards were upon him in a moment and held him back. “Turgon was a brave king, and he cared very deeply for those within his realm. And at the end, he was a hero to so very many.”
After a moment, Verdev began to slowly and loudly clap his hands together. “A delightful eulogy. I expect many such performances from you in the future. Now, before my patience wears too thin, let us see if you can answer my question: Which of the houses of Gondolin is the finest?”
Erestor felt the grip of one of the guards tighten, so he shrugged the orc off. “The House of the Fountain," he said. “I doubt you or any of your minions are worthy enough to lick the floors.”
“Your insults recall a quaint country charm. You were not always a courtier, were you?”
To this, Erestor simply sneered.
“I did not think so. Figuring you out will be a pleasant puzzle for me. I suppose it shall please you to know that I do not plan to step foot into the House of the Fountain; I need only determine the base of operation for Lord Sauron. Now that we have established that, let us see how things shall proceed. Which are the houses closest to the House of the Fountain?” Verdev asked.
Erestor gave Verdev a sour look, but answered him with, “The House of the Tree shares a courtyard with the House of the Fountain. Nearby, you shall find the House of the Heavenly Arch.”
“Which of the three is the smallest?”
“The arch,” said Erestor. “It was a family estate and not meant for many others. The other two houses were home to their lords, as well as various other nobles, servants, and the like.”
“Good. Omurau!” Verdev waited as a tall, gangly orc slunk over. “See that the House of the Arch is prepared as a suitable place for my pets.” Omurau bowed his head and slipped away. “Although we have an obvious contempt for one another on many levels, I do hope we shall come to appreciate our relationship some day. You are dismissed – Furog, escort him back to his cell. And Erestor? I would suggest you not wander off again. As cute as it is the first time a pet does so, I would suggest you not make it a habit. It will not be so well forgiven next time.”
Erestor dug his heels into the ground to keep from being pushed along. “How do you know my name?”
“We all know who you are.” Verdev smiled and tilted his head towards the barracks. It was obvious that Furog intended to drag Erestor back to the cell if he did not go willingly, so Erestor suffered the indignity of being locked up again and pondered for long hours the source of Verdev’s knowledge.
Unforgivable by Zhie