The Seven Gates by Laerthel

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The King's Doom

Ecthelion's pride is hurt (thrice!), and Anardil's fate is decided.

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“When in this lifetime,” Ecthelion whispered, “did he learn our tongue?! No, wait… this is no more than a dream! The drunken sort. He could not have just said that.”

“These days,” said Laurefindil, “boundaries between vision and reality are not half as prominent as one could expect.”

Even as he spoke, he had to admit that vision was a very soft word to describe the council’s happenings. At first, he had heard the story of Beren and Lúthien, topped with an all-too detailed account on Findaráto’s murder that made his blood boil. Then words of Tyelkormo’s treachery had come, along with rage and regret. And then, just when he thought things could not get worse, Lord Anardil – or, as his freshly acknowledged lack of title required, simply Anardil – stood and spoke; and he voiced the same disquiet that he felt. The mariner’s grim declarations felt just as ill-boding as Laurefindil’s own recurring dreams; thus, the source of his turmoil was not merely different from Ecthelion’s, but unalliable.

“He speaks and understands Quenya,” his friend seethed, “yet he made me thou and thee like some pompous fool!”

“I fear he may have done some even more outrageous things,” said Laurefindil. “Look at Voronwë!”

The always stern, always quiet and impeccably courteous mariner was practically shaking with rage; and Laurefindil felt a pang of doubt. Was he wrong to agree with Anardil?

He listened intently while the Teler unveiled all the lies he had told them, and held his breath with the rest of the Great Hall when the King was brusquely reminded of his duty as a ruler – then, as everyone else, he also stilled when he heard Anardil laugh. Beside him, Ecthelion was fidgeting; and Laurefindil knew he was fighting the urge to protest.

“You have been complaining about your lowly state, my friend,” King Turukáno then said, “yet there is no lord who could remind a king about his duty; only a painter’s apprentice.”

Silence stretched in the hall again, and from the many eyes fixed on Anardil, few were friendly. Finally, it was Counsellor Lómion who stood and voiced the general discontentment.

“Highness,” he said. “It would be best to spare your good thoughts and attention from this Elf. We have all heard how little his own words of honour mean to him – not to mention that he misguided Lord Voronwë, Captain Laurefindil and the Lord Warden of the Gates himself! Since when do we hold council meetings about the doings of petty liars?”

That was an insult, and a grievous one!

Laurefindil drew a sharp breath, his legs getting ready to lift him; but Ecthelion was swifter.

“My King,” he said, “I have never dreamed that one day, I will agree with Counsellor Lómion – and lo, the day has come! Yet everything that happened, happened out of my own folly. I should have never let this Elf enter our Gates and utilize our kindness.”

“Let him enter or have him killed: this was the choice you had to make, Lord Warden,” said Voronwë sternly. “The fault was mine. I should have discovered I was being lied to. But what was done is now done! We need to solve the problem of here and now. I will accept any sort of punishment you lords seem fit for me as the laws and customs of our realm require.”

“Do the laws and customs of your realm also require to talk about people as if they were not present?” Anardil found his voice. “And what on Arda was that about me being killed?!”

“You never told him about the regulations,” said Chief Advisor Galdor, eyes on Voronwë’s face.

“Not precisely,” said he, “and that was another mistake. I told him that our kingdom was sealed; but I did not inform him about the exact rules, for I did not think they would apply in his case.”

“Whyever would they not?” Counsellor Lómion crossed his arms. “The case of Húrin and Huor was an exception; and it happened against the Council’s wishes, because our King, in his wisdom, deemed otherwise. Keeping secrets is a delicate matter, Lord Voronwë, and I am afraid your friend shall not be as lucky as our mortal guests were.”

“He is no friend of mine,” said Voronwë. “If you care to know, Lord Counsellor, I wished to ask for the consideration of our King. Huor and Húrin, as you are aware, were flown into our City by the mighty Eagles; and so were now we. A liar this Elf might be, but he does not know the way in.”

“And he shall never know the way out, if this Council holds any common sense,” Ecthelion said.

“Why is it that the one time when I decide to be honourable, I receive the most colourful insults I have ever heard?!” Anardil exclaimed. “Yes, o mighty Lords of Ondo-lindë, I have lied: pity enough that one has to lie to claim your attention! Yet it is not for myself that I speak…”

“And there you just lied again!” Said Counsellor Lómion. “You have told us yourself: you wanted to end your misery – to have your saviour’s attention before the others. If you cared about the well-being of anyone else, you would perhaps have let yourself carried away by the Call of Mandos when you noticed a drowning child a few feet away from you! Or an injured soldier, wearied by torture and pain! Yet you only had eyes for yourself: you seized a privilege that was not yours.”

“A privilege that should not even exist!” Anardil shouted back at him; but Lómion’s eyes were dark, furious and terrible, and they seemed to strip him to the core.

“You have no right to decide what should or should not be,” he said. “You broke our laws and deceived us: for that deed, you are named traitor, and a danger to our kingdom. The Council shall now decide of your fate. Do you have anything else to say?”

“I have already said too much,” Anardil sighed. His face remained stern, but his eyes betrayed confusion and fear. “If you name me traitor and throw me off a cliff, my blood is on your hands – and then I will know that the Noldor are indeed no more than slayers of kin! Are these diamond walls built from the wealth of those you have already executed because they told you the truth?”

“You are not helping yourself!” Voronwë exclaimed.

“Why should I? I have my no-friend-of-mine by my side to help me!” Anardil quipped, now openly furious. “You are going to have me murdered because I have hurt your pride. Is that not enough for you, you still have to preach your non-existent wisdom?!”

“ENOUGH!”

Both Laurefindil and Ecthelion gave a start. Never in their waking lives had they – or anyone else – seen Chief Advisor Galdor raising his voice even the slightest; yet now he sprang to his feet, anger sparkling in his eyes.

“Your words are poisonous,” he said. “I feel the work of the Enemy here; you have brought back a shard of evil with you from your journey. But that evil is no part of you, children, nor does it come from within. Let it go! You should never allow anger and fear to cloud your judgement, to make you say or swear things you cannot hold onto. Counsellor Lómion, that regards you as well. One thing is caution, and another thing is misgiving.”

More and more glances wandered towards King Turukáno with every passing moment, but the King remained silent, and he seemed deep in thought.

“Let the Council decide, then,” said Lómion. “The charges are known to all. Are there witnesses who wish to provide us any further information?”

Ten seconds passed in utter silence and stillness.

“If not…,” Lómion began; but suddenly, Voronwë stood.

“I have a right I would like to use,” he said. “As you are aware, my Lords, I am a member of the Small Council, and my word, as I am told, matters to you; for these reasons alone I gather now my courage to beg for the mercy of my kinsman, Turukáno Nolofinwion, King of this City and Protector of this Realm.”

“What?!” Ecthelion whispered, a little bit too loudly.

“And now,” said Voronwë Aranwion, “if you will excuse me.”

He shoved an empty chair out of his way, and almost raced across the immense Hall with his long strides. Even at such speed, it took him half a minute to reach the main entrance, which was shut behind him with a loud bang.

Anardil turned around slowly, staring at the gigantesque ebony door, wrought with cunning jewels of every colour.

“One would think the Council is at loss,” Laurefindil told Ecthelion. “A rare sight.”

“Rarer than most,” his friend nodded. “It is just too much, is it not? The bats and the werewolves; the stolen Silmaril; the betrayal of Tyelkormo and Curufinwë; Sauron’s machinations; and now this impossible Elf... I do not believe that anything else could surprise me toda…. ERESTOR! WHAT IN MANWË’S HOLY NAME ARE YOU DOING IN THIS ROOM?!”

Erestor was there indeed, merely a few seats away from the King. On his left, a scribe was making notes; the seat on his right, however, was empty. Though he had the grace to blush at least, Erestor’s voice was entirely without regret when he said,

“I am executing a royal order, Lord Warden.”

“And since when is my underage nephew qualified to carry out such an important task, if I may inquire?”

Laurefindil had to remind himself that his friend’s pride was being hurt the third time that day, lest he would say something – rebuking Ecthelion just then could have led to unforeseeable consequences.

“He is probably not,” said Erestor with dignity, “yet one would be insane to deny the King’s request when made, and deprive themselves of the honour to witness a Great Council.”

“Any fault young Erestor might have committed today is mine, not his,” said the King, “for he is indeed here at my request.”

Lord Anardil was the only one who did not look at the King, then; his eyes were fixed on either his own boots or the curious shapes on the marble floor, Laurefindil could not be sure. All were waiting for orders, explanations or questions; yet all the King said was,

“I shall honour the request of Voronwë Aranwion, and judge the case of our guest, Anardil myself; therefore, our Council is now dismissed. The tale of Beren and Lúthien, as we have heard it, is no secret: it can be discussed and praised freely by those who find joy in them, for they were remarkable. On the contrary, any action we might take in response to them should be kept in secret until the Council deems otherwise. Our next meeting shall take place after the celebrations of Tarnin Austa, on the first day of the new month. I expect the members of the Small Council in my study tomorrow morning, at first light. For now, everyone is dismissed save for our guest, Anardil. I have spoken.”

Laurefindil stood, following the flood of council members, undisturbed by wary looks and confused whispering. At the doorstep, he looked back, and saw the King stepping near the dazed, lonely figure of Anardil, still encircled by empty chairs, and putting a hand on his shoulder. The Teler gave a start; rays of light danced around in his silver hair as he raised his chin to face the King.

Laurefindil turned back and walked away.

Council meetings are supposed to clear things up, he thought, not to complicate them.

~ § ~

The House of the Fountain, Dining Hall

“This is insane,” Ecthelion slammed his fist on the table, so that the bits of salad gave a small jump in his plate. “Honestly, Fin, I just cannot believe what I saw. This Anardil is probably the most dangerous fellow we have ever seen, and the King does… what exactly? He laughs at his offensive jokes! We have never seen him treat a criminal in such a way before. Like an honoured guest! And…”

“Let us leave it at that,” Laurefindil placed his knife across his empty plate. “A criminal…? Do you truly think Anardil is that dangerous? Why – because he lied? Because he hurt your pride? Because he spoke his mind?”

“Mock me all the way you like,” said Ecthelion icily, “but that Elf is not an honest soul.”

“Not entirely, or perhaps not yet,” Laurefindil agreed. “Nevertheless, when he spoke of Beleriand, he cared about all those villages burned, all those people killed, all those lands laid waste. They have touched his soul. He would have perhaps cried for them if we were not there; but he pulled on the mask of a wearied traveller who is no longer touched by the cruelty of this world. And now, in the Council, he proved – or pretended – to be loud and selfish: a pure opportunist. You think he spoke the truth at last? Well, I think he weaved the web of his lies even further. If I could only know why he is truly here…!”

“The truth, usually, is less complicated than this,” Ecthelion objected.

“Usually, yes. Yet I trust your good judgement: you would have never let evil pass the Gates!”

“You should not trust me this much, Fin.”

“Think of Voronwë, then, and the way he treated this Elf. He is warier than the pair of us combined, and even he tended to genuinely trust Anardil!”

“Curiously enough,” Ecthelion sighed. “Everyone makes mistakes, Fin; and there is something exceptionally disarming in this Elf. I wonder what the King shall do to him.”

“So do I,” said Laurefindil. “A mystery even greater than the case of young Erestor.”

“It seems that he wants to be a scholar, you know.”

“Well, that is a good thing, is it not?”

“I am not so sure!” Ecthelion shifted in his seat. “I want him to learn how to take care of himself. How to defend himself.”

Laurefindil smiled. “In some wars, one may find that a quill is sharper than any blade.”

“True enough; but first and foremost, I want to protect Erestor from Lómion; and becoming a scholar will not help with that.”

Laurefindil eyed his friend.

“I swore to evade this terrain,” he said warily, “but are you aware of the extent of your hostility towards Lómion? It is becoming palpable, and I am sure he is starting to feel it as well. You have no… no public reason to treat him this way, Ecthelion. Be careful, if you do not want him to guess the reason.”

“There is nothing to guess,” Ecthelion said, enunciating every word with accurate precision.

“I know what Itarillë meant to you, and…”

“You do not,” his friend barked, “and that is my last word!”

Laurefindil looked up to meet Ecthelion’s eyes – tired and empty –, then slowly, he nodded.

“Perhaps that would be best,” he said. “I should be on duty in any case. Thank you and your household for the lunch – it was excellent, as always.”

He stood, shook out his cloak with an elegant flourish, and made his way to the door. Ecthelion, however, grabbed the handle before he could have reached it.

“There is no need to see me out,” said Laurefindil.

“I am surprised that you would leave so soon,” said Ecthelion. “Was I crude to you?”

“Not particularly,” Laurefindil smiled. “I am quite aware of the rhetoric behind your soft rebukes… yet you were right. This is definitely not the best moment to dwell on such matters. I should not have brought it up.”

“It matters not,” Ecthelion squeezed his shoulder. “I wanted to talk to you about unpleasant things as well.”

“Aye, and since you know me as well as you know yourself, you might have already guessed that this is the very thing I am now trying to avoid.”

Laurefindil’s voice was casual, even playful; and his friend pretended he did not even notice the warning that lingered behind it.

“I do not remember the last time you have overslept. You would have missed the whole Council if I had not knocked on your door!”

“Thankfully enough, you did,” said Laurefindil curtly.

“You are not yourself since you began seeing these dreams! You seem far more… distant… than you used to be. Your eyes wander beyond the world one can see. I think that these visions are starting to rule your entire life.”

“No; not really,” Laurefindil sighed. “In truth, I have – well, I helped myself to sleep last eve, and the method proved a little bit too effective. As for the dreams, I wish they would go away! They are an unsolvable puzzle: parts of a great whole I shall never fully see or comprehend.”

“Parts of a great whole…,” Ecthelion muttered. “Interesting.”

“Why so?”

“If your dreams are incomplete, that raises the question where the missing parts could be. In the back of your mind, waiting to be seen? Or are others seeing them, struggling with an equal sense of scantiness? Both options are equally interesting – and worrisome.”

“You care more about these dreams than I do,” said Laurefindil. “They might be mere products of my imagination for all we know. And now, duty calls! We shall meet again at the small council; and I would dearly like to spar with you afterwards.”

“It would both please and honour me,” said Ecthelion; and Laurefindil felt the warmth of fondness spreading in his chest upon hearing his friend’s lofty speech.

And yet their words of farewell were collected, and formal.

Far more formal than a good-bye of two lifelong friends should be, Laurefindil thought.

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

Meanwhile in King Turukáno’s study

The first things Anardil spotted were the colours: a rich palette of blue, white, and golden, from the cleanest, palest tinges to the deepest shades. The King’s hand was still resting on his shoulder; its touch no longer a grip, but mere guidance through stairs and doorsteps still unknown to him.

The study was bright and spacious with a large desk in the middle, tall windows of painted glass around the walls, and a slender balcony door in the far end of the room; and by the time his eyes could take in these surroundings, Anardil’s fear transformed into mute acceptance.

I am no coward, some proud, dignified (and previously unknown) dimension of his conscience insisted. I can accept my fate, whatever it is.

The first momentum of Anardil’s curious fate consisted of King Turukáno letting his shoulder go, gesturing towards the luxurious armchair that faced his desk, and asking,

“Red or white wine?”

“I… what?” Anardil blurted out most ungracefully. “I mean – excuse me, your Majesty?”

In Quenya, the title had a strange, alien ring to it; and the King’s gaze softened a little.

“I took the courage,” he said, “to inquire about your preference in wine. Red or white?”

“Well, er, white,” Anardil stuttered. He allowed himself a glance at the King: he did not look quite like a tyrant who would execute him. Truth be told, he did not look like a tryant at all, and a murderer even less.

Yet neither had Fëanáro!

King Turukáno stepped over to some far corner of the room, then came back with a bottle of wine and two goblets wrought with diamonds. He sat down at the other side of the desk, filled them himself, and leaned back with ease.

“Be welcome in my halls, Anardil of the Falmari,” he said with a quizzical smile, and raised his goblet. “May your stay, long or short, be pleasant here.”

He is trying to unsettle me, Anardil decided, refusing to acknowledge that he was already far too unsettled.

“I must thank you for your hospitality, Highness,” he said, mirroring the gesture, “for it is most remarkable.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

King Turukáno took a generous sip of wine, then placed his goblet on the table, and looked him straight in the eye. Anardil steeled every bit of his consciousness against the flood of questions to come.

“Do you know why you are here, Anardil of the Falmari?”

“You are to judge me.”

“The Council was to judge you; and they did not seem willing to vote in your favour. You angered them beyond measure! Did Voronwë not tell you about the ways of law in my kingdom?”

“He refused to speak about the place he was taking me at,” Anardil shrugged. “And I did not insist. It made lying easier, for if I ever asked anything, he asked me back. That is how it went between us: a question for a question, an answer for an answer. Trap questions and half-answers, you might say.”

“I see,” said the King. “Let us play the same game, then! The only hardship I shall weigh on you is that if I catch you lying, you die.”

Anardil had never heard a death threat voiced with such flawless elegance, such exuberant courtesy before.

“…and what if I catch you lying? Highness?”

The King raised his brows.

 “Then, I shall give you my crown and kneel before you; and the Seas will rise, the world will change; the Valar shall come and chase Moringotto out to the blackest Void; and we will all greet the new dawn with thunderous applause.”

“I hope I will, then,” said Anardil, bewildered.

He heard a pang of sharpened steel; and King Turukáno placed a pale, softly gleaming longsword on the table between them.

“This is Nambegotto,” he said. “May he stay between us while we play our game.”

“So be it,” said Anardil, letting a long-caught breath escape his lungs.

“After you, then.”

Anardil suddenly felt like he had lost the ability to form coherent sentences.

“…Highness, why did you suddenly dismiss the Council? And why did Voronwë ask you to judge me personally? Do I have more chance for your mercy this way?”

Or perhaps less?

“You asked me three questions at once,” said King Turukáno, “yet for this one time, you shall have all the answers. I dismissed the Council because tempers were rising; and anger smothers reason, which is most undesirable. Voronwë asking for my personal consideration – and mercy – in your case means that you shall be judged outside the frames of public discussion. If that will help or hinder you, I cannot yet tell.”

“Very reassuring,” Anardil sighed. “And tell me, Highness…,” he tensed, shook his head, swallowed the rest of the question. “No, wait. Your turn.”

The King tilted his head, watching him intensely.

“Do you think that the charges of the Council were unjust?”

“Yes and no,” said Anardil. “I did lie about who I was, and I understand how grave of a fault that must seem to them; though ashamed as I might sometimes feel of it, it did feel necessary. However… Counsellor Lómion called me a traitor and a danger to this city, which I find most insulting. How could I be a danger to any of you? I could not hurt a fly!”

“You might forgive me if I refuse to believe that,” said King Turukáno.

“That is either most flattering or terribly offensive to hear, Highness,” Anardil allowed himself a smile. “I cannot yet decide. Now tell me, o King, about those famous rules of your city.”

“Ondolindë has six gates, and neither of them is easy to enter,” came the answer, calm and collected. “They are well hidden, and heavily guarded. The easiest way inside is to fly, as you have done, until you reached the Gate of Silver; in such a case, guests are welcomed by Lord Ecthelion, then myself. Ecthelion did not tell you the rules, for there was no need. You came here upon the wings of Eagles; and never in your waking life shall you pass my Gates again.”

“Well, that was swift enough for a judgement,” said Anardil, constricted.

“No judgement was spoken yet,” said the King smoothly, “only law. This kingdom is sealed: once you came in, there is no way out. Did Voronwë not tell you so?”

“He did,” said Anardil, “though he spoke of a case of exception, also; and so I went along with my lie. Voronwë did not tell me how and why the exception in question occurred, so I was left to wonder. I hoped that Lord Anardil could have what I could not.”

“Tell me about your captivity and escape,” said King Turukáno.

That is a story not worth telling, Anardil wanted to say; but the gleam of Nambegotto was cold and sharp, and he could almost feel the bite of steel on his skin.

“I was certain that I would die,” he said. “King Finrod… he was there. And Beren, that adan was there, too, and so were their companions. I saw them between the bars of my cell sometimes… and heard them, too. The walls were very thin for a prison. Every day a werewolf came and ate one of them, until finally, only Beren and the king remained. That day, the lash split across my back when the Orcs beat me. They blamed me for the loss of their favourite toy, and that angered them; so they stripped me. Not that I was well dressed before, but they stripped me completely; then they dragged me and another ellon along to that other cell. They made me watch as the wolf – well, the wolf did what a wolf was supposed to do. I think they even starved that beast so it would attack the King all the more furiously. It was horrible, I still retch when I think of it sometimes. But then… then she came, and freed us, and the walls crumbled; or perhaps I only dreamed that. Someone cut the ropes and dragged me on my feet.”

“The next thing I remember is running downhill, out of that accursed fortress, leading everyone and anyone who could walk. We knew Sauron was going to hunt for us, and all we wished for was a square meal and safety. Some of us reached the river, into which I fell; I tried to swim but my strength failed me. I grabbed hold of a piece of driftwood, and travelled along the river, until lo! I saw a ship, and Voronwë on the decks. So I cried for help. Orcs ambushed us, arrows were flying everywhere; and I knew there were many others who begged for salvation. Then, a terrible sense of dread came over me Highness; I did not want to lose my life just then and there! I cried that I was one of King Olwë’s household, one of wealth, one of importance; strong arms grabbed me to pull me out of the water, and my eyes saw no more. When I woke, Voronwë was tending to my wounds.” Anardil sighed. “Are you going to punish him for bringing me here?”

“I may not,” said King Turukáno. “Now tell me in return, for I am most curious: why did you confess?”

“My manners – or the lack of them – betrayed me most cruelly,” said Anardil. “Otherwise, it merely felt the right thing to do. I could not live with such a lie, and I was hoping to get the Council’s attention by such a revelation… which I did, in the end, although not in the way I had intended. I am at fault, Highness, I can see that now; but I never wanted to do you harm. I hate the Dark One and his creations as much as the next quend. I would be happy to see his downfall!”

Their game of questions and answers was entirely forgotten as King Turukáno leaned over the table, the gleaming steel of his longsword painting curious reflections on his skin.

“Your lie still seems entirely unnecessary to me,” he said. “You would have been saved and treated with respect in any case. What happened in those prison cells that made you feel so unworthy of care?”

“A great many things,” said Anardil. Suddenly, his mouth went dry, and he had to fight back a wave of unwanted memories. “I cannot tell you right now, not yet. Torture… it strips you of everything you ever were. Highness. The eyes of Sauron sees under your skin, through your flesh; they see inside you. And once you are stripped of willpower and dignity, you become his puppet. I saw it happen. People start to do unnecessary things, like lying; and then they…”

Anardil’s eyes widened in confusion and shock.

“I did not mean to…!” He said. “It is just so hard… so hard to be normal again.”

“Being normal is entirely too hard,” said King Turukáno. “Sometimes bordering impossible.”

“I never wanted to cause so much trouble,” Anardil whispered miserably. “I was merely afraid, more than you could ever understand. When I was a captive, I could bear the torment of it; but now that it is over, the smallest possibility of it ever happening again… it terrifies me! The shadow of pain long gone shall ever linger in my heart; and I will never be free of my nightmares again.”

“So you had wished for a place to live peacefully, untouched by the perils of the world,” said the King, “yet also freely, for you are a traveller; and the challenges of the unknown tempt you from time to time. You had wished for a new life, far from war and suffering. To chase those dreams, you felt obliged to lie; and that lie gnawed at you until today. You finally chose to reveal it, unready as you were to face the consequences; for the memories of your torment are vivid still.”

Anardil nodded, suddenly feeling quite numb.

“Peace and safety were everything I wanted indeed,” he said, “and I was ready to lie for them. That, I shall not deny; nor will I deny that I still long for such things. Highness, I accept any sort of punishment you deem fit, only… have mercy, and do not put me into prison. Never to prison, I beg you! I would rather be cast into an abyss, or shot with an arrow, or beheaded, or… well, anything else.”

King Turukáno remained silent for a while. He looked at Anardil intently; then, his eyes wandered off towards the walls, the windows, the gemstones on his chalice.

 And then suddenly, he leaned back in his chair.

“My judgement is made,” he said. “Hear me now, Anardil of the Falmari! No living soul who passes the Oroquilta and sees my Gates may ever leave again while this Kingdom stands, or until Moringotto is defeated. Therefore, freed you shall not be, and pass the Gates you shall not. Your life and freedom I spare, with the sole exception that you must remain in this city. You will have a home to dwell in; garments to wear; wealth for a year to start your new life. May you find the peace and safety that you so desire, in the fair valley of Tumladen. May no dread or shadow haunt you! May no enemy find you! I, Turukáno Ñolofinwion, King of Ondolindë and Protector of the Hidden Realm have spoken, and thus my words are sealed.”

Silence fell on the room; Anardil could hear a bird singing faintly in the distance. Bright sunlight was filtering through the windows, painting tiny rainbows upon the desk between them.

“This…,” when Anardil finally found his voice, it was crooked, and tears were welling in his eyes. “There is punishment in this, and you know it.”

“Indeed.”

“How could I ever be worthy of this?” Anardil cried out, shaken. “Me, a liar, a thrall – and a painter’s apprentice!”

“If there is any hardship in my doom, it lies within your own self,” said the King. His king. “I would not have rewarded your future deeds if I did not see them coming, Anardil of Ondolindë. As a dweller of my city and my subject, at least respect my insight and consideration until you learn to trust it.”

“Yes, Highness,” said Anardil with sudden peace.

“See?” King Turukáno stood, and gestured for him to follow. “You are learning.”

Together, they stepped out to the King’s balcony. Looking down, Anardil could see the green valley of Tumladen in the icy embrace of the Encircling Mountains, and the white-silvery gleam of the Hidden City, buzzing with life.

“What a wondrous place,” he said. “Untouched by death and peril. One’s heart feels lighter here.”

“Beautiful it is,” said King Turukáno, “yet against all odds, I fear for it. The mountains are high, and the peaks icy cold… and all flowers shall wither.”

Anardil drew a sharp breath.

He had heard those words before.

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Chapter End Notes

There are two self-made Quenya translations in this chapter:

(1) ‘Oroquilta’ for Encircling Mountains (Sindarin: Echoriath)

(2) ‘Nambegotto’ for ‘Glamdring’ (Sindarin) [foe-hammer]. The construction of the name ‘Nambegotto’ was based on that of ‘Moringotto’; the literal, extended translation should be something like “Namba ñgothova” [hammer-of-foe].

Also – as in the previous chapter – Anardil’s bad Quenya is sometimes enunciated with commas, dashes and italic.

The ‘Falmari’ [literal: ‘wave-folk’] is the Quenya name for Sea-Elves (mostly Teleri)