Bloody silmarils, book I by Dilly

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Chapter 7: The Round Table

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The heads of nine Houses of Gondolin were meeting around the Round Table, a superb work of carpentry divided into twelve even pieces, each triangular section depicting the symbols of one House.

Seated around the table were the illustrious Lords of Gondolin. There was Constable Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch, rich as all the members of his House, Duilin of the Swallow, the agile archer, the powerful Rog of the Hammer of Wrath, Salgant of the Harp, also called 'the ugly', the voyager Voronwë, of the Wing, Galdor of the Tree, the young Ecthelion of the Fountain, and lastly Enerdhil of the Mole, miner and silversmith.

"Why are we here?" asked Glorfindel, turning questioning eyes to his surrounding colleagues.

"Because Fëanor wanted to reclaim the Silmarils?" guessed Egalmoth.

"And because then Fingon followed the crowd without thinking?" continued Rog.

"And because Fingolfin wanted to go ice skating?"

"No, I meant, why are we here right now?" clarified Glorfindel.

Egalmoth made a gesture with his right hand as if he was shooing away pigeons.

"More boring matters, like the population transfer from Vinyamar or the sanding down of the hill..."

"When are we going to get some action?" Ecthelion said in frustration.

"What you you mean by action, exactly?" asked Glorfindel.

"You know well what I mean... Fights, monsters, saving a prince, the usual."

"But why a prince and not a princess?" wondered Enerdhil.

"Because Noldorin women aren't stupid enough to risk their lives in such an ill considered manner," explained Egalmoth, "just for prestige or treasure. Therefore it's always the men who end up as prisoners."

"That makes things far less interesting," said Glorfindel.

"Lastly, it's said that once rescued, the prince can help fight on the way back," added Galdor.

"That all depends on the state he's in," replied the Constable. "Most often, he's terribly weakened and ends up in the saddle while you walk to get the food and the loot."

 

 

Turgon and Penlodh made their entrance. The son of Fingolfin took the place for the House of the King, his chair next to the only window in the room. As for Penlodh, he sat at the place for the House of the Tower of Snow and placed his files on the place for the Pillar.

"Greetings," said the King. "We can begin the meeting. Penlodh, what's the order of business?"

"The security of the interior and the smoothness of Amon Gwareth, Majesty."

Sighs were heard at this announcement.

"Glorfindel, don't lean on the table," said Turgon. "And what's this I hear? Were those sighs? Ecthelion, make yourself useful for once. Tell me, what's the reason for all these malcontent faces?"

"Majesty, you spoke to us of interior security," replied Ecthelion. "For my part, I would really like it if we talked about insecurity. The quality of sandpaper used to sand down Amon Gwareth doesn't interest me."

"I'll remind you that it was Ulmo who told me to do that. You will be very happy if we were invaded one day and the orcs couldn't climb it!"

"Perhaps... But in the mean time, with all due respect, I'm being bored to death!"

"You're so dramatic... I find you quite entertaining."

"I think what Ecthelion wants to say, with his youthful impetuosity," said Galdor, "is that maybe we could spend a little less time on certain subjects and a little more on others."

"Is that so," growled Turgon. "And what other subjects?"

"Adventure!" exclaimed Ecthelion.

"Adventure..." repeated the King incredulously. "Penlodh, do you have anything to propose on the subject of adventure?"

The seneschal consulted his files.

"Let's see... there's the son of your cousin Angrod who was kidnapped two weeks ago while hunting."

"Oh, really? Isn't he called Oro... something or other?"

"Orodreth."

"The teen is always getting into trouble, isn't he ? Well. A prince to rescue... does that interest you?"

Ecthelion nodded vigorously.

"Good. Glorfindel will go rescue Orodreth."

"What?!" shouted Ecthelion.

"What about it? I want to be sure my nephew returns in one piece. And there is no way I'm sending a second person, it's not worth sulking over. Now so long as we're here, is there anything else?"

"Yes Majesty," declared Egalmoth. "Why do some of us have the right to lead two Houses instead of one?"

"Are you thinking of anyone in particular?"

Everyone turned to look at Penlodh, who raised his left eyebrow.

"There's favourites..." someone muttered.

"If you want to double your workload, Egalmoth..." goaded Turgon.

"It's not a question of workload," clarifies Egalmoth.  "There is also the matter of tax collection : double houses, double taxes." 

"Taxes? What taxes?" asked Turgon.

"The taxes necessary to the running of the State, Majesty," declared Penlodh.  "But I don't see how it would be profitable to levy double taxes when as soon as you do so the money, which is currently distributed and utilized legally, will end up in a secret account in a Dwarven bank on the other side of the Blue Mountains." 

Egalmoth paled.

"Is that an accusation, vile bureaucrat?"

 

 

A quarter hour later, a general Noldorin style argument had erupted and Turgon took the opportunity to slip out of the room, just like Salgant. A few meters away he noticed the unusually stocky figure of the harpist.

"Oh, Maleagant! Did you escape as well?" joked the King.

"No, I'm Salgant, Majesty."

"Please excuse me.  Their barking gave me a headache... When I think it was Ulmo who told me to build the round table, where everyone could be equal... You see the result." 

He gave a heavy sigh.

"Salgant... Why are we here, exactly?"

"Because of your Uncle's Silmarils, my King."

"Argh. Bloody Silmarils."