The Seven Gates by Laerthel

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The Vote

Turgon sets an impromptu Small Council meeting; Tyelcano demonstrates his loyalty. All kinds of drama and friendly sap ensue.

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An hour later

Warden, Captain and Counsellor all stormed into the makeshift council meeting in a disarray of soaked garments and muddy boots. The wind has been in their hair; and Lómion raised an eyebrow at them as they trooped into the King’s study room, leaving a wet stain on the carpet.

“Apologies, Highness,” said Ecthelion smoothly, making sure that the worst of the half-melted snow that kept rolling off his cloak would land on the young advisor’s notes. “We did not expect to be on duty today.”

“I must thank you for making yourselves available on such a short notice,” said the King, as if that was anything less than natural. “And yet… my friends, the weather is quite terrible! May I inquire why would you all spend your free day outside?”

The three Elves looked at each other.

“A bet,” said Laurefindil.

Now not only the King, but Counsellor Lómion, Chief Advisor Galdor and Great Master Rog were also staring at them with open bewilderment. To his great surprise, Tyelcano glimpsed Anardil in the background, lounging in one of the great armchairs by the fireplace.

“Excellent, Captain,” he said, as reproachful as he could make himself sound. “Of the great many ways one could explain our predicament, you have successfully chosen the most ridiculous.”

“There has been a bet, though,” Laurefindil countered.

“And you won,” said Ecthelion with a theatrical wave of his hand. “Now, let us not waste the Small Council’s time any longer.”

The three of them settled around the table, facing the others – side by side, the way they have always done in the past months –, and looked expectantly at the King.

“Very well,” said Turukáno. “There is something we must discuss before tomorrow’s long council session. I want you select few to know about it, so the rest of the city can be freed of the burden of unnecessary knowledge.”

“With your permission, Highness,” said Lómion, his voice clear and ruthless, “is it also your bidding that Anardil of the Falmari should witness this conversation?”

“Aye,” said the King lightly. “I invited him today myself, for I strongly believe that we could all benefit from his insight on the matter we shall now discuss.”

Tyelcano needed every modicum of his self-control to sit in his great carved chair with his shoulders relaxed, wait, and maintain an expression of polite interest on his otherwise stoic face. His heart was beating hard and fast, as if he had run many miles, and irrational thoughts chased each other in his head.

There was a way out of the Hidden City; and some greater power – good or bad, it mattered not –, showed it to him.

It has been intended for him to come here: which meant that he was not the mere endurer of some obscure fate. He needed to act.

There was a way for him to change things.

“News have come from Voronwë, I trust?” said Great Master Rog. “In all honesty, I expected him to turn up at this meeting already.”

A shadow of worry ghosted through the King’s face.

“That is precisely why we have all gathered here today, my friends,” he said at length. “My kinsman, Voronwë is two months late. This, ultimately, leaves us with two possible courses of action that are known to all.”

“They are not known to me, Majesty,” said Anardil. “What are those?”

“Sending another envoy to gather news, or shutting the Gates, essentially,” said Lómion, his annoyance barely concealed. “And I must say that in the light of recent events, I am leaning towards the latter solution.”

“What do you mean, shutting the Gates?” Anardil was openly scandalized. “Will no one search for Voronwë? What if he was captured like me? Tortured?”

“That will not happen,” said Rog. “Envoys of the Hidden City shall sooner pass on to Mandos than reveal anything they know. If the servants of the Enemy truly captured him, I can assure you that Voronwë Aranwion died a swift and painless death as soon as they laid hands upon him.”

“And that is supposed to be reassuring?” Anardil snapped.

“It is,” said Ecthelion. “The same thing is expected of me, should I ever be captured by the servants of Moringotto. Or anyone in this room. We know too much.”

“None of us would ever willingly reveal our secrets to the Enemy,” Master Rog agreed, “and yet, we cannot take the risk. No one knows what torments one will suffer if carried to Angamando.”

“No one but my lord Nelyafinwë,” said Tyelcano. “And he says that in the event of one’s capture, the only reliable path of escape is a dagger through the heart; and that route he advises one to choose, if taken by the Enemy.”

“Sounds like a cheerful fellow,” said Anardil. “So – essentially, you are all telling me that my friend is either lost or dead, and we are all expected to just sit here and do nothing.”

“I was unaware that Voronwë Aranwion has ever been your friend,” said Lómion. “All this time, I remained under the impression that he could not even stand the sight of you.”

“That he cannot,” said Anardil, “but he saved my life! I shan’t forget that. The bards only ever sing about unrequited love – it is time for unrequited friendship to have its due, d’you think not?”

“I have considered sending an envoy after Voronwë,” said King Turukáno, “but there is no one in this realm who knows these lands nearly so well. It seems that once again I must ask for the help of the Eagles – and it is my command that none of you should speak of my kinsman’s disappearance in the Council. Not yet – not until we have been convinced that it is, in fact, a case of disappearance.”

“You have my word, Highness,” said Lómion, and the others agreed as well, one after the other.

“Very well,” said the King. “Now all that remains is to discuss what, in your opinion, our City should do if the tale of Beren, Lúthien and the stolen Silmaril proves to be true; if my brother and my cousins indeed take up arms and march against the Enemy. I want you to be honest with me – but I also want the entire Small Council to be of the same eventual public opinion, should this matter be made a subject of vote among the Twelve Houses.”

“I say we fight,” said Laurefindil immediately. “It is only natural that we should come to their aid. They are our kinsmen!”

“I say we fight as well,” said Ecthelion. “Our forces are mighty, and no Orc or dragon can stand in our way. Not even the Valaraukar, would the Enemy release them upon us again. I should dearly like to slay one… and I wager I would sooner accomplish this deed than our Captain here.”

“I will save your skin from it, and then slay it,” said Laurefindil.

“And I will cheer you on, from the greatest conceivable distance,” said Anardil. “Aye! If my opinion is truly so valuable to you, Majesty, then hear it: I, too, believe that you should help those in need. A little retaliation for the Flames would be in order, I think.”

“I would not be so quick to march into battle,” said Rog. “We still do not know anything; and pardon my words, but the day I fight for the Seven Sons will be the day Mandos comes for us all.”

“That day may come very soon if the Enemy’s power grows any further,” said Tyelcano dryly. The rapid beating of his heart was slowing down, the cogwheels of his mind set in motion as he saw the singular opportunity that was granted to him.

“I would not march into battle, either,” said Galdor. “I am not convinced that we stand a chance against the Enemy. We do not know nearly enough to act – although I do believe that messages should be exchanged with King Findekáno.”

“I am saddened to see that some are blinded by rage and sorrow,” Lómion sighed. “Aye, the Enemy has done terrible things; and aye, it is only natural that those outside of this realm are trying to survive. And yet, do we must share their tribulations? It is indeed a privilege that we live in peace and prosperity; and it is a terrible thing that others must suffer. Still, this does not mean that we should suffer, too.”

“That is very true, Lómion,” said King Turukáno quietly. “It does not. This is a very difficult question indeed, which is why I want us all to agree on it.”

“I do not think that full agreement is possible,” said Ecthelion, “but it seems that our decision is made. Galdor, Lómion and Rog would stay; Laurefindil, Anardil and I would go, which makes three against three. With Tyelcano, that will be four against three; so the collective opinion is set. Unless you decide otherwise as our King, the Council wants to fight.”

“Anardil is not a member of the Small Council,” said Lómion smoothly, “so that will be three against three. We are at a draw.”

“Anardil was called in to vote, the way others are oft called in in the absence of Voronwë so our King could still hear seven different opinions,” said Ecthelion. “And he has voted, whether you like it or not. It is decided.”

“I, however, have not spoken on this matter yet,” said Tyelcano. When every head turned to him in response, he folded his hands elegantly in his lap, and allowed himself a rueful smile. “And with the King’s permission, I would like to stay silent on it, and let the Small Council remain at a draw.”

“What do you mean, stay silent?” Anardil was staring at him as though he had just grown second head. “This is exactly what you want! If we do this, you can go home!”

Tyelcano closed his eyes for a moment.

“The question the King of this Realm has asked us does not concern my heart’s desire,” he said. “It concerns the well-being of this City and its people. If I were to vote for what, in my honest opinion, is best for Ondolindë, by doing so, I would break the oath of loyalty I have sworn for my lord Nelyafinwë.”

Everyone stared at him; and he looked the King in the eye, stern, unyielding.

“I beg you,” said Tyelcano softly, “do not ask this of me. You know very well what you should do if the protection of your realm is truly your foremost intention; and useful as the counsel of others might be, you alone, Turukáno, must decide what your foremost intention should be. That is my last word.”

Silence fell on the room, and everyone stared at Tyelcano in great wonder.

“You are one of a kind, Counsellor,” said Rog, at length. “I think I owe you an apology. For thinking you were a Feanorean spy, and all.”

“I do as well,” said Lómion, his voice strangely aloof.

“Let us forget this,” said Tyelcano, as lightly as he could manage, “and act as though I have never said anything. The Small Council is at a draw, and the King shall decide what its standpoint must be in an eventual debate, if Voronwë returns. All things might change in an instant, then; or they might remain the same. We shall learn more with time, I am certain of it.”

He deliberately avoided the half-incredulous, half-indignant looks of his friends, watching the King closely instead; but Turukáno did naught but stare at his own clasped hands in deep thought.

“The Small Council is dismissed,” he said at length. “I suggest you all stay as guests in my Halls for the night. The storm shall be quite pitiless, or so I am told.”

The members of the council stood and headed for the door with hasty bows; but when Tyelcano stepped away from his chair, the King held his arm.

“Stay,” he said gently. “And close the door when the others left.”

Tyelcano did as he was told, although he wanted nothing more than leave, and lock himself up in his own quarters for the night. He needed desperately to think, to evaluate, to measure his next step.

“I am thankful for what you did today,” said the King when they were alone. “It must have been very difficult for you.”

“It was,” said Tyelcano. “The question is – did I do it because I want the best for your realm, or did I do it to gain your trust?”

Turukáno smiled at him.

“Both, I think,” he said. “Although you would never openly mention it if you did not know that I understood. Indeed, I understand. I learned much more than you think.”

“And what is it that you learnt?”

“That I can trust you to speak from your heart; but I shall never have it. And the truth – or falsity – of that assumption is exactly what I had hoped to deduce from tonight’s council session.”

Tyelcano stared at him.

“Why would you say that, Turukáno? You are, as you have reminded me yourself, a grandson to Finwë who made me one of his House. I shall serve you as I have served him.”

“But your heart belongs to Nelyafinwë in a way that it shall never belong to me.”

“That it does; and I have as little choice in such matters as you do. Yet, in no way does this mean that my heart holds no warmth to you, or your brother; nor does it mean that I would not give my life to save yours; nor does it mean that I will give you false counsel to bend your will towards my own. What I did today was no theatrics to lull your suspicion; this you can expect from me at all times.”

“For that, I am thankful,” said the King, but his voice rang hollow; and suddenly, impossibly, Tyelcano was reminded of the pouty little boy he had once pulled in his lap and showed him Fëanáro’s new set of tengwar so he could write.

“I can see that I have displeased you,” he said softly, “yet I do not know how.”

Turukáno was silent for a long time.

“Have you never wondered why I have chosen to hide among these mountains?” he spoke at length. “Why do I never care to meet my brother? Other than the story of Ulmo’s guidance and my City’s foundation, of course, which do have a nice ring to them.”

“You care more than you know,” said Tyelcano gently. “You hope to learn more from Voronwë about your brother than about the stolen Silmaril, the state of Beleriand, or anything else. You always search for him.”

“Aye,” said Turukáno, “and he never searches for me.”

Tyelcano tilted his head.

“Am I witnessing a high stakes game of hide-and-seek between two Kings?”

“Findekáno does not want to find me! He does not care! He has always cared more about Nelyafinwë than his own brother; and if given the choice, then Nelyafinwë he shall choose, same as you.”

Tyelcano closed his eyes for a moment, knowing that he should thread lightly.

“I have had this very same conversation with your father and Fëanáro, many years ago. Must I truly have it with you as well?”

“Valar, that conversation did not work out very well, did it?”

“Love is not a competition,” said Tyelcano with a sigh. “Least of all brotherly love. I understand why you may feel abandoned by Findekáno – but has it ever occurred to you that he might feel abandoned as well? You were not there when Moringotto’s dragon attacked Ard-Galen; when we met the first Men; when the Flames came, and your father went to Mandos. Nelyafinwë was almost killed by that dragon, admired by those Men, and burned by those Flames. At all times, he was there for your brother; in joy and sorrow, in trials and tribulations, in hope and despair, for so he had promised.”

“And yet he sailed from Alqualondë,” said Turukáno bitterly.

“He also stood aside, withstanding his father’s wrath, when the ships of the Teleri were burned,” said Tyelcano. “He always remained true to his cousin and dearest friend; while I followed Fëanáro, torch in hand, the blood of my kin still dripping from my blade. And yet your wrath has turned against Nelyafinwë and not me. Worse: against your brother, and not me. Do you deem that just?”

“I do not know what is just,” said Turukáno. “At times, I feel terribly alone. This is not what Father or Grandfather would have wanted. None of this! We should have never left Aman.”

“Yet we have; and in Beleriand we must remain, for our homeland is lost for us until the end of our days. Denying that would be as asinine as it is futile.”

“Do you believe, then, that we are doomed to die here?” said Turukáno. “All of us?”

“I know not.” Tyelcano’s eyes were distant. “If Nelyafinwë and his brothers fulfilled their Oath, though… if the two remaining Jewels were reclaimed from the Enemy’s crown, and if Thingol gave up the third…”

“Do you honestly believe that is possible?”

“When Fëanáro died, I thought our days in these lands would prove equally short and bitter,” said Tyelcano. “But then…”

“Speak no more!” said Turukáno reproachfully. “I know what you shall say: but then, Nelyafinwë came back from the dead, and the Orcs flee before his face, and the dragons fear his name; and come battle or strife, he shall draw his sword and mount his horse and make everything right again. You are just as enamoured with him as my brother. You both forget what he did.”

“I will never forget,” said Tyelcano, “but I did worse. What is more, I have also witnessed many a deed he accomplished since Losgar, and I will tell you this: if someone, anyone in these lands has a chance to vanquish the Enemy, it is Nelyafinwë. But to do that, he shall need your help as much as he needs Findekáno’s.”

“The day I believe we stand a chance against Moringotto, I will grant him my help,” said Turukáno. “Not a day sooner, and not a moment later. That much, I can sincerely promise. That day, the House of Finwë shall once again be united; and the Enemy shall learn to fear our names.”

“You do not think you shall see that day.”

“I did not think that my father shall challenge Moringotto to single combat, either,” said Turukáno, his voice suddenly thick with grief. “If it was not the Lord of the Eagles himself who told me, I would not have believed it. It was the only time I had felt in my heart that he and Fëanáro were truly related.”

“I have felt so more times than I can count,” said Tyelcano softly. “With Findekáno as well. With you as well, whether you like it or not.”

Turukáno studied him intently for a while; then abruptly, he looked away.

“You are a lot more honest with me than I expected,” he said. “Indeed! I trusted Anardil with the delivery of painful truths during this council session; yet all he gave me was a moving demonstration of loyalty to Voronwë, who denied him his friendship.”

“Anardil has a good heart,” said Tyelcano. “For that reason alone do I tolerate him in my presence.”

“You like him,” Turukáno decided.

“As do you. For what other reason would you invite a painter’s apprentice to your Small Council? Surely, you could have found another Elf to speak as the voice of honesty.”

“The dreams,” said the King. “Somehow, I feel like Anardil is significant. For what other reason would he see the same visions as I? Although I must confess, I have seen none since Tarnin Austa. Have you?”

Tyelcano shook his head. He briefly considered telling the King about the crow; but the mere possibility of mentioning the newly discovered secret passage along the way was unthinkable.

“The dreams almost feel like a legend for me now,” he said slowly. “Far away, half-forgotten. I have not had a vision since I came here.”

A smile ghosted through Turukáno’s face.

“Speaking of legends,” he said. “What is it with you and Salgant? I have heard some colourful stories...”

“That is all they are,” said Tyelcano with tact. “Stories. I certainly hope that you cannot picture me chasing the Lord of the Harp around with some Wooden Spoone, or Wooden Pike, or anything of the sort.”

“My personal favourite is the Flower-Stake,” said the King, his eyes gleaming with open mirth. “Amusement aside, I hope that this matter can be resolved with time. I shall not have enmity within my Council.”

“As you say, Highness,” said Tyelcano solemnly.

Outside, the wind was rising.

The storm had come.

*

When Tyelcano entered his rooms, he was greeted by the sight of Ecthelion and Laurefindil settled in the two armchairs facing the desk in his spacious study. Anardil was there, too, pacing to and fro in front of the immense window of painted glass. Outside, the wind was howling; the cityscape remained hidden behind a curtain of furiously swirling snow.

“Next time you decide to high-handedly occupy my quarters, make sure you get the fire going beforehand,” said the Counsellor lightly. “I am used to the cold, but you are going to suffer for the rest of the night.”

“Is it always this cold where you come from?” Anardil frowned. “Small wonder the Seven Sons keep setting everything on fire.”

Tyelcano crossed his arms, suddenly finding that his patience had run thin.

“I am not in a very high mood this evening,” he said, “so any further insult bestowed upon my family must wait until the morrow. And now, if you will all excuse me, I wish to sleep through this storm.”

“Not until we have talked,” said Ecthelion. “You owe us an explanation.”

“An explanation for what?” Tyelcano spread his arms. “Do I need to teach members of the Small Council how politics work?”

“Your wrath is misdirected,” said Laurefindil.

“I am tired,” said Tyelcano, “and I cannot suffer explaining things to people who already understand them. You know why I could not weigh my opinion against anyone’s on this matter; not now, not when the King himself is undecided. With my vote, we may have won a small battle, but not the war. I am fairly surprised that Rog or Lómion did not immediately understand what I was up to – or if they did, they have perfected the art of concealment.”

“No,” said Laurefindil, “you did not act out of mere interest or calculation. It was evident that you did not; and that is why they were both so impressed with you. But this does not explain everything. I would not go as far as saying that we can guess your every thought, but we do know you a little bit by now, Tyel! For long months you have grieved for yourself; and then today, everything changed. All of a sudden, you look like a hound that caught scent. You have a new plan, and you think that we cannot see it!”

“It is all because of the crow,” said Tyelcano. “Its coming could not have been an accident! That crow was sent for us, to show us something – with time, we might eventually come to understand why it had brought us to the Caragdûr.”

“The crow?” Anardil quit his pacing. “Like the crows from the dreams? You really did see a crow up here in the mountains, in the dead of winter?”

“We have no time for this,” said Ecthelion. “I know what you have seen. Listen carefully, Tyelcano of the Star, because I, the Warden of the Gates, am hanging on a thread above the bottomless pit of treason when I speak of this: the path you seek is deadly, and dangerous, and designed to kill those who decide to step upon it. Should you take it now, you will never make it through alive! Even in the height of summer, if you take one wrong turn and lose your way, the only path that will carry you out of the Orfalch Echor is through Mandos. Do not go down there! Do not even think about it.”

“A path!” Laurefindil exclaimed. “So it truly exists, then! How come I did not see it?”

“There is a way out of the City, Lord Mopey found it and he is still here with us?” Anardil was looking at them with mock bewilderment. “What in the world!”

“If I had any strength left to take offense, I would now,” said Tyelcano warily. He turned away from his friends, and stared aimlessly at the window, now covered thickly with snow. “I have been blinded by my discovery indeed,” he admitted. “There is a secret passage through the Caragdûr, out of this City, or so it seems; and I am convinced that the crow was sent here to show that path to us. To me. And for what other reason could such a path be revealed than for me to step on it?”

“Do not go close to it, I beg you!” said Ecthelion. “With all the ice and snow outside, you shan’t even make it down to the opening alive. Be patient and wait! If Voronwë comes back, he will have news for us all, and you might find that you shall not have to plan your escape; for you shall leave, and the entire City shall follow. You are not the only one who wants to act: most of us share the same desire. For Laurefindil and myself, at least, I may speak: for we both want to fight, to slay Orcs, to set Beleriand free again.”

“You can trust us,” said Laurefindil. “If we learn the truth of what happened in Beleriand, and the Council debates the matter, we shall stand with you, always; and if at that time, your heart still aches to go back to your lord, we will do everything within our power to get you home. We are your friends, Tyel; and we shall not see you suffer.”

“Valar save us indeed from all the melancholic stares, hushed no-thank-you-s and dramatic exits from dining halls!” Anardil agreed. “We shall have no more of that.”

Tyelcano looked at his friends with open fondness.

“I am grateful for that,” he said, as better words failed him. “And do stay for the night. I am told that the book selection Turukáno has made for me is most remarkable.”