The Seven Gates by Laerthel

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Leavens of Revolt

Conspiracies - intentional and unintentional - are plotted, and a friendship is strengthened.

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The Inn to the Blind Guardian, FA 467, the third day of Nárië, before dawn

Laurefindil squinted at the artfully calligraphed tengwar on the list, with their archaic overbars and stylized initials, and sighed. He wished his head would hurt just a little less, or – if that was impossible – that it would at least cease pounding.

Since he had no such luck, he chose what he could first decipher.

“…I shall have a goblet of Hillside Nectar, please. Or two goblets… maybe three… in fact, we’d rather have the entire bottle, thank you.”

“And a glass of water,” called Voronwë from the back.

The innkeeper smiled as she emerged from the cellar with an old vintage of Hillside Nectar. “What is it with sailors and water? One would think you have tasted enough of it.”

“I shall rather drink water that knows it is water, than some sour grape juice that claims to be nectar,” Voronwë quipped.

The innkeeper laughed. “A curious answer from a lord who recently decided that he was a spy and knocked on my door in the middle of the night to organise a secret meeting!”

As far as Laurefindil was concerned, any meeting that was announced in a clear, ringing voice that echoed through a bar was no longer secret. Voronwë, however, did not seem to share his concerns for once, cautious as he was.

“…nothing of the sort, m’lady, I assure you. Only – lately, there were strange developments in the City, which our humble company would prefer to discuss in the silence and peace of your rooms.”

 “I hear that the walls in the Royal Palace have grown large, shapely ears,” said the innkeeper.

“Now,” said Voronwë, as he picked up his glass of water and led a puzzled Captain Laurefindil to the backdoor, “you have not heard such a thing from me, certainly. Not to mention that walls with poking ears would look absolutely awful.”

“As my lord wishes,” said the innkeeper. She left the taproom, and the two door-wings embraced behind the two Elves with a soft clank.

~ § ~

Lords Ecthelion and Egalmoth were already present – as agreed – and seated at the two opposite heads of the table. They both made a considerable effort to seem at ease; said efforts, however, were completely ineffective, as a bow-string would have been looser if one were to stretch it between them.

The room was tidy, and solemnly elegant – it looked, in fact, almost cosy for one accustomed to the ever-extravagant, pompous architecture of Ondolindë. If Voronwë was to be believed, the room was one of the many remote corners of the inn that were provided for those who sook privacy. Laurefindil had to rely on his friend’s words in that matter – he was not known for holding lengthy clandestine discussions.

Until now.

He took the seat facing Ecthelion’s and sank into weary silence. He did not know why they were here, or how long they were to stay – and, most of all, he had no idea what he was about to witness.

“Thank you all for coming,” said Voronwë, when everyone was seated. “Forgive me for having dragged you all the way down here in such an inconvenient hour – I assure you that I would not have done so if it was not strictly necessary.”

“It is quite all right,” said Ecthelion, “but why…”

Voronwë raised his hand. “We will get there in a moment. First of all – Ecthelion, Laurefindil, you both must promise me that you will keep in utmost secret whatever you might hear in this room. Once and for all – even if, at the end, you decide against helping our friend Egalmoth.”

Both addressed lords stared at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Trust me,” Voronwë repeated, “this is necessary.”

Ecthelion crossed his arms. “What is happening here…? Why should I swear secrecy to some unknown matter, why should I grant my loyalty for a hidden cause?”

“Promise that you will stay silent, and we will tell you everything,” said Egalmoth, with a shadow of pain in his eyes. “Please.”

“All right,” said Laurefindil slowly, “I, your friend, give you my word that I shall keep your secret, and I trust that you will not make me regret it.”

Ecthelion gave him a sidelong look, then sighed exasperatedly.

“All right – for friendship’s sake, I give you my word as well. Now explain.”

Voronwë emptied his glass and looked around the table, his face solemn, yet grave.

“Before we get to that, I must inquire… to what extent have you been made aware of certain, ah, recent happenings?”

“You mean, about the intruders?” Ecthelion raised an eyebrow.

“To my best knowledge,” Laurefindil offered, “they were messengers from the East. The entire City is debating whether they are dead or alive, and if they were sent here on purpose. We had to forcefully seal the Palace against all the onlookers and their bustle. I have not seen such a commotion since…”

Laurefindil swallowed the rest of his sentence, and the lords all bowed their heads in mournful understanding. The last time Ondolindë had seen such commotion was when the Eagles had borne the body of High King Ñolofinwë, hero to many and sire to their King, after he had fallen to the cruel hammer of Moringotto. The whole City had then come out to the streets, standing vigil and singing laments.

“No one is allowed to see the newcomers,” Laurefindil added cautiously. “The King has been visiting them every morn and every eve. I seldom saw him in the past few days, but whenever I did, he seemed very grave to me; deep in thought, yet somewhat hopeful. I cannot guess the cause or the meaning of his perturbation; he spoke naught to me – he had us double the city watch instead!”

“Laurefindil,” said Egalmoth slowly, “has the King – or Ecthelion, for that matter – told you about certain complications surrounding the arrival of these… intruders?”

“I meant to, but I did not have the chance yet.” Ecthelion gave a stormy sigh. “The envoys were chased by Orcs, and they ventured to our Gates by nothing more than chance; or maybe – as some claim – by the will of the Valar. Nevertheless, the Orcs did not follow them closely enough to see where exactly they had disappeared; therefore, they had practically no chance to find the secret entrance of our City. Well – they would have probably never had the chance to find it, if Captain Elemmakil of the Watch did not ride out on them!”

“He did…?!” Laurefindil exclaimed, more out of dread than admiration. “But that is against the Law!”

“Aye, it is.” Ecthelion bowed his head. “The fool… One of the newcomers begged him to help his friends who had fallen behind; and Elemmakil complied like the pompous fool he had always been…! And on he rode. Doing justice in this situation shall be most gruesome: I do not like the thought of it… yet what Captain Elemmakil did, however heroic, doomed him. He purposefully broke the Law of Secrecy. And for breaking the Law of Secrecy –”

“No!” Laurefindil exclaimed.

“Yes, Fin. Yes. You get thrown into the Caragdûr for that.”

“And that is why I am here today,” said Egalmoth solemnly. “As you all know, Captain Elemmakil is an honourable servant of my House. I cannot suffer him being killed for the bravest deed he had ever done. I wondered, Ecthelion, if you could help me lift the sentence. Somehow… Anyhow…”

For a long time, the only sound in the room was the soft patter of rain on the roof and the windows.

“This is one of those times,” said Ecthelion at length, “when the Laws may seem cruel. But the whole raid could have been avoided. The Orcs never found the First Gate – Elemmakil himself went out to chase them. He rode out several miles, for Valar’s sake! And for that reason, I do not see how I could help him. As Lord Warden of the Gates, all I could do was assure that he drags his heroic behind back in time; that all the Orcs are hunted down; and that our guests are assigned to the best healer. I may still, of course, acquaint the King with my opinion, but I doubt that it would change much. Such matters belong to the consideration of Counsellor Lómion. He is the only one who can still save your captain, and – well, good luck with that.”

“Could Lómion truly want him to be executed?” Laurefindil raised his brows. “I doubt it.”

“Lómion saw his own father executed and did not even blink!” Ecthelion snapped. “Or have you forgotten…?! Fin, you can really be a giant, empty-headed dandelion sometimes!”

Laurefindil took a deep breath. “I was only trying to say…”

But his friend was far too preoccupied with his aversion towards the Counsellor. “I was there when he spoke the doom, if you must know,” he said brusquely. “And he did say it saddened him to decide so – but the King’s Law cannot be taken lightly, he declared, and he would not tell me another word. As much as I hate to admit it, Lómion has the Law on his side this time. After all, Captain Elemmakil did endanger our entire City with his actions – and that could, under no circumstances, be denied, or – in the Counsellor’s words – taken lightly.”

“And yet,” Laurefindil tried, “if Lómion were to give him a second chance – to make sure he would respect the Law in the future and take every word to heart – I am sure that Elemmakil would not disappoint!”

“Had he broken any other Law than that of Secrecy,” Ecthelion sighed, “I believe there would be a chance to save him. Egalmoth, my friend, I am sorry. I can do naught.”

“Well… if Lómion’s mind is truly made, then nor can I,” admitted Laurefindil, a great weight settling on his chest.

Egalmoth bowed his head in mute acceptance, while Voronwë, who had stayed silent all the way long, propped up his head upon an elbow, and made a scornful ‘tsk-tsk’ sound, shattering his usual image of quiet grace.

“Why, my friends,” he said, “I have invited you lot here today to tell you that there is, in fact, someone could do plenty – if we are insane enough to ask for his help.”

“Please, go on,” said Laurefindil, his interest piqued.

“Well,” Voronwë crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Our Captain Elemmakil, as it happens, is exceptionally fortunate in his choice of obedience. When he charged at those Orcs at the plea of a fallen traveller clad in blood-coated rags, he had no idea who he had just saved, upon whose command was he breaking the Law. Little did he know that dressed in those particular blood-coated rags was no mere messenger, but a great lord from Tirion: Counsellor to Finwë, then Fëanáro, and now Nelyafinwë, from the fortress of Himring; one named Tyelcano. This I have learned only yestereve, when I spoke to the King: he is, to tell the truth, quite happy to have this Lord Tyelcano under his wings. Now… by service, this Lord Tyelcano belongs to the King’s, and therefore, my family: perhaps not in the same way Lómion does, but in a way that is no less valuable. And although I do not yet know him in person, I am sure that he would not cherish the thought of Captain Elemmakil dying for having granted his wish. Lord Tyelcano is, the King tells me, Nelyafinwë’s only advisor and close friend; and Nelyafinwë, whatever one might say about him, is an epitome of knightly valour. If anyone, then this Lord Tyelcano can help you.”

“How?” said Laurefindil. “How could he, an outsider, do anything, if Lómion’s doom has already been spoken?”

“There is only one way to change what has been settled: bringing the matter before the Council,” said Ecthelion slowly. “Voronwë means that we will have to accuse Lómion of injustice...”

“…after which a debate would commence.” Egalmoth shook his head. “A debate with Lómion in charge, which – in itself – is a lost cause. Have you ever heard him speak?!”

“Not against the legendary counsellor of Finwë himself – not against the one who had talked Fëanáro into accepting his exile,” said Voronwë, now visibly amused. “I, for one, would dearly like to watch that debate.”

For a short while, they all contemplated the thought in silence and doubt. Finally, it was Laurefindil who spoke:

“I do not understand. How did this Elf come here? Have the Seven Sons sent us messengers, respecting some unknown agreement…? Or have they only lost their way?”

“They came here by chance,” Ecthelion said slowly. “That much is clear. If you ask me, they were heading to Barad Eithel…”

“Only two envoys made it to the Gates, and one died the night afterwards,” said Voronwë. “He was a scout. The lord is recovering… and he will stay here, my friends. The King has already made that very clear. He is not going anywhere – as goes the Law.” He made a pause. “The King seems to have great respect for him. Aye, I believe that he could help us.”

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

The Royal Palace, in the evening

To say that Counsellor Lómion’s study was dark would have been an overstatement – when Erestor pressed the handle and walked in, his heart in his throat, he found it draped in faint gleam instead. The silvery hue came from a flameless lamp, the likes of which he often saw around Lómion; it was like a sharp, gleaming jewel, a maze of erratically connected angular surfaces. It doubled, tripled, quadrupled Erestor’s shadow as he sneaked closer to the table and shrugged off the tension of intimidation.

He had been told to come and wait here; and wait he would.

Lómion was known to be very strict and reserved about the usage of his library, but Erestor risked a glance at the nearest bookshelf all the same. Sadly, he could not have reached any of the books without making noise – the spaces between the furniture were too narrow, and the tips of the bookshelves (were the rarest items were kept) almost touched the ceiling.

Erestor had no choice but to admit his failure and turn his attention to the landscape. Lómion’s window looked out to icy Crissaegrim instead of the lush gardens, or the King’s many fountains as they chattered and sang – it was a strange choice of view, one with edges and depths, one with sharp lines and narrow angles.

A large pile of paper was placed on top of Lómion’s desk, ready to be studied, signed, or even copied for all Erestor knew. He stepped closer, suddenly overwhelmed by curiosity. Maybe, if he could just steal a glance… he would not tell anyone. No one would know…

His plans, however, were thwarted by Lómion himself as he walked into the room (cradling another roll of parchment in his arms) and sat down behind his desk to read through it. He seemed oblivious to his young friend’s presence; he took his quill, and scribbled a note between two lines, brows knit in thought. Erestor could tell that whatever he was reading, he was not at all happy about it.

Quite possibly, he was being a nuisance.

Erestor suddenly felt childish and stupid for having come here. Lómion surely had things of greater importance to do than answering his questions… He should probably just turn and leave, as quickly and quietly as he had come.

The Counsellor’s eyes suddenly locked with his. “Oh, it’s you.” He sighed. “You must excuse me, young lord. I got… carried away in my thoughts, and I did not see you. Please, sit.”

Erestor did not sit. “I do not want to disturb you…”

“Clearly, you do – otherwise, you would not be here.” Lómion smiled quizzically. “Out with it!”

“You have better things to do now, Lómion,” the boy stammered. “I – I just wanted to ask you stupid questions, like I always do.”

“If you must lie to me, little one,” said Lómion gently, “at least try and get better at it. You are carrying an unnecessary weight. Let it go.”

Erestor came closer, his steps faltering in front of the desk, and he sank into the other chair. Now that he was here, facing his friend and protector, the matters that had brought him there seemed petty and ridiculous.

“I was hoping…,” he began cautiously, “that you could help me decide.Yestereve, my uncle told me something that I did not quite understand, but he would not explain it. I almost admitted to him that I was no longer a stranger to law, but I did not dare to speak, because… Lómion, do you not think that we should finally tell him about… about us? About you teaching me law, and me being your friend, and everything? I feel like a thief in the night whenever I come here, yet I am not doing anything wrong!”

Lómion raised his hand, smiling.

“One matter at a time, young lord! First, you would do very well to explain what Lord Ecthelion had said that you failed to understand.”

“He said…” Erestor swallowed. “He said… Oh no, I should not speak. Lómion, I… I was eavesdropping. The words my uncle spoke were not meant for me to hear, and when he realised that I had, he was angry with me… I should not…”

Lómion nodded. “Then you should not,” he said, his voice serious. “However, if those words were not for you to hear, they are no concern of yours – therefore, you should stop worrying about them. Let the lords discuss their own matters and be glad that you are spared such burdens for the time being.”

“Yes, you are right,” Erestor was suddenly ashamed. “I should not be talking about any of it. It is just that you are my friend; and although it may be wrong to tell you about this, because I am thus disobeying my uncle… but you are my friend and you have always been nice to me. I think you should truly know about this before something really bad happens.”

“Erestor,” said Lómion, his voice suddenly grave. “What was it that you heard?”

“Uncle said that Lord Egalmoth was bringing a matter of injustice and a breach of the King’s Law before the Grand Council,” said Erestor, his voice trembling. “He also said that he was vouching for Lord Egalmoth in front of the Council, so that his words would be heeded; and that Captain Laurefindil would be witness, too. It was him that Uncle spoke to, when I heard them… Captain Laurefindil…”

“It is only what was to be expected,” Lómion smiled tightly. “Your Uncle is a proud and noble lord, and such lords are known to prefer loyalty over the black-and-white sincerity of justice where their friends are concerned. Just remember what I told you about law precedents…”

“Aye,” said Erestor. “But when I was discovered eavesdropping, I asked my Uncle if it was Lord Egalmoth himself who stood accused of injustice, and he said no. He would not tell me who it was, or why, but he exclaimed in anger that it was you who breached the law, cundunya, and that you were about to get away with it!” Erestor’s eyes were wide and fearful. “I told him it was impossible… and then he scolded me. And now I feel torn, because my Uncle never lies. He just cannot – it is impossible, just as impossible as the thought of you, my friend, breaking the King’s Law. Now here I stand, torn between two impossible things. My Uncle must be mistaken – but why would anyone think, cundunya, that you have done such a terrible thing?”

Lómion took a deep breath, and Erestor saw that he had to struggle to keep his voice calm.

“Lord Ecthelion, as it appears, spoke in anger and frustration, and that is how I shall treat his words. The way I spoke to him yesterday was… far from polite. It is true that I overstepped myself, and perhaps – unintentionally – disrespected him in the heat of the moment. For that, I shall apologize.”

“But why…”

“If you have your eyes open, young lord,” said Lómion, his gaze suddenly scrutinizing, “you must have noticed that our City has visitors. We do not know whence they came, or what they want – and their reception has not been seamless. A captain from Lord Egalmoth’s house is to be held responsible for his rash actions, and that is where my conflict with your Uncle Ecthelion stemmed from. You should not worry about it: the Lord Warden is known to speak hotly at times, although he means well. He always does.”

“You are just telling me that in hope that I would finally leave you alone,” Erestor said.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Even I am prone to the weakness of damaged pride, Erestor nin.” Lómion reached out above the table and held the boy’s chin gently. “Now tell me, young one… is there anything else you would like to tell me?”

Erestor looked into his friend’s eyes, deep and dark like two bottomless wells, and suddenly wished he could stream all the knowledge of Arda into them.

“Not much… only that there is a debate to be held. In – in the Council.”

“The decision is already made,” said Lómion, puzzled. “Captain Elemmakil is going to be punished –”

“My uncle spoke about a debate in the Council. And that… that you are not going to like what will happen. I do not know what he meant by that, Lómion, but be wary…! You are far from unprotected, but it is never good to be on the receiving end of my uncle’s wrath.”

There was a long silence. Lómion’s face betrayed none of his thoughts, but his eyes were bright and keen, as if searching for truths and explanations beyond the boundaries of the visible world.

“These are wise words from one so young,” He finally said, musing. “Thank you for your kindness and loyalty, Erestor nin. I will not forget it.”

“It is I who should thank you, cundunya.” Erestor bowed, then hesitated, then finally spoke. “What about… well, should we keep meeting in secret?”

“In the light of recent events,” said Lómion measuredly, “I think we should. I will try my best, however, to reconcile with Lord Ecthelion.”

The boy nodded, a little bit shaken. He was already in the doorway when Lómion called after him.

“And – Erestor!”

“Yes, cundunya?”

“If one day you find that there is anything, anything that bothers you, that weighs on you, anything you would like to tell me – please, do it, as bravely as you did today. I promise that I will do my best to help you.”

“Thank you,” said Erestor, deeply grateful. “Thank you. I will.”

“Good night, then.” Lómion smiled faintly. “May your dreams be sweeter than mine.” He glanced at the revolting amount of parchments on his desk. “Now shoo, leave me to my work. Council reports will not write themselves, you know.”