zhie | More on 'Forbidden' or whatever it was called

The Gondolin story, yo.

Heh heh. Sorry, I'm so tired. This next bit connects to this part:

http://www.livejournal.com/users/zhie/74387.html#cutid1

warning: no happy fluffiness ahead.

The door slammed shut behind Ecthelion as he continued to stride into the room. He made his way clear across, past the two elves who sat and remained silent, one looking to the floor and the other looking straight ahead. After pouring himself a drink, Ecthelion turned back around, looking at each elf in turn. “Glorfindel, look at me,” he said, not in the harsh tone he was about to speak in, but in a fatherly manner meant to comfort the younger one.

“Damn you! Did you have to hit him?” Ecthelion drank the entirety of his glass before setting his eyes upon Erestor again. “What were you thinking? This isn’t Valinor; rules here are different. No matter what, no one strikes a lord or a king, despite whatever terrible things are said!”

“He was only defending me,” said Glorfindel dumbly, apologetically. He was embarrassed; his cheeks were aflame, and he could not bring himself to look at Erestor, though he forced himself to look at Ecthelion at least.

“Yes, I assumed as much.” Ecthelion sighed. “It was a matter of time before one of them did something they should not have. They can say whatever they damn well want, and unless they outright vilify the king no punishment will be imposed.”

Standing up suddenly, Glorfindel interupted. “But they are both lords- surely it can not be so bad as-“

“Glorfindel, sit down!” Ecthelion even pointed to the seat with fury in his eyes. Unsure of what to do, Glorfindel glanced finally at Erestor, who gave a little nod and looked to the chair. Numbly he felt his legs give way as he sat back down. Ecthelion took a deep breath. “Erestor, I have one elf calling for your dismisal, one calling for your execution, and one calling for both.”

“It is ever so nice to know that Duilin, Egalmoth, and Salgant all have their own opinions. For once,” Erestor said bitterly.

“Erestor.” Ecthelion made his way to the counter where the liquor was kept, set down his glass, and picked up the bottle. “Erestor, this is serious. They wish for us to go before the king himself; at this very hour. A time which was to be joyous and instead will be full of misery. Do you not know why I called both of you here?” Neither answered, but Ecthelion did not expect them to. “King Turgon wished to have twelve houses, of that you must have known. Glorfindel, yours he chose without hesitation to fill one of the vacancies. He has had his eye on you since the day you came into the city,” said Ecthelion, his voice a mixture of pride and sadness. “His second choice was more difficult, for he had two ideas in mind; the first to split a house, for Egalmoth’s followers are numerous. The second was to offer someone else the chance at the honor, and Erestor, he had chosen you.”

For a moment, Glorfindel began to smile. He and Erestor would be lords of the same level as Ecthelion, equal to Salgant and the others. His smile faltered. “Ecthelion, you do not think the king will change his mind because of this, do you?”

But Ecthelion did not answer this question. “Salgant has demanded that you be brought before the king tonight, Erestor. As captain, I must take you there.”

- - -

“Does anyone have anything to add?” Turgon had already heard the account from all five parties involved, and though he could tell that Salgant and Egalmoth were embellishing a bit, he was also able to tell that the guilty party showed no remorse for his actions. This bothered the king greatly. Waiting a few moments more before reaching his verdict, he finally said, “Obviously, there is no doubt that Lord Erestor is guilty of assault. Do you deny this charge, Lord Erestor?”

“No, my lord.” A slight apologetic tone, but all for Turgon and not for Salgant. An apology for doing something to lead him to have to make such a decision, to say such a thing.

Smugly, Salgant stepped forward. “I do believe a punishment is in order.”

“Discipline, is in order,” Turgon answered back. “Punishment, is not acceptable. There must be law, order, rules, yes, and those who break them must be subject to some sort of penalty. However, there must be reason for it, a way to learn or train the one who is out of order not to break the rules again. What would you have for a penalty, Lord Salgant?”

“I would have his title removed and-“

“Unacceptable,” announced the king loudly, his voice echoing through the chambers. The meeting, called so late, was being held in private. It likely would have been at any hour, but the time caused it to be not only private, but secret as well. No servents were lurking at this hour, ready to spread the news on to others. Only a few trusted scribes might be about, and they were not ones for such idle gossip. “Lord Erestor, what is your suggestion? How would you have me deal with you?”

“Perhaps I should be jailed, left to think upon my situation for-“

“No. Also unacceptable.” The king frowned. “No one would gain anything from that, and you know it. Jails are best used to scare the young deliquents into being obedient. You would use your time to think of other things while you were there, no lesson would be learned.” He looked to Ecthelion. “Have you a suggestion for me on how to solve this situation we find ourselves in?”

He gave himself time to consider, but eventually Ecthelion shook his head. “No, m’lord. I have no solution for you.”

“I have one.” Egalmoth stepped forward. “Sometimes,” he said, with mock sincerity, “no matter how hard we try to use friendly discipline, there is no positive result from it. You said one must learn, but also you say, one might be trained. I do not think Lord Erestor, in this case, can learn not to hit his fellow lords,” said Egalmoth, and he was on the receiving end of a dark look from Erestor. “He must be trained.”

Egalmoth circled the room, coming to a wall where a smattering of weapons was displayed. “When I train my horses,” he continued, taking one of the weapons from the wall, “I used a whip.” He cracked the whip in the air, then looped it back up again as he walked back to his king. “It takes very few strikes before the beast is broken in.”

The whip was handed to Turgon, who held it thoughtfully. “Usually, I try to come to a compromise between the two parties. However, it is difficult to find a middle ground to losing one’s house and spending a few nights in a cell. Salgant, would you agree to this as fair and fitting discipline?”

“Ahh... yes. Yes, it is.” It took only one prod from Egalmoth for him to agree.

“Lord Erestor, you are to be disciplined by the whip. Have you any objections to this decision?” It was a formality, really, for how could one object to a king, but Turgon asked it anyhow.

Glorfindel flinched as he listened to Erestor agree. Somehow, this seemed so terribly, horribly wrong. There seemed no justice that so good an elf be beaten for one slap and one punch to an elf who deserved such things. He was dwelling on this and trying to come up with something to do or say to stop it, he did not hear his name called out until Ecthelion reached out and shook him.

“Glorfindel, did you hear what I said?” Turgon looked thoroughly unamused, and Glorfindel shook his head and mumbled an apology. “Come forward, Glorfindel. Ecthelion, find a way to bind him here. The rest of you- I want none of this to leave this room tonight. No one here is to speak of it or discuss it. Is that clear?”

Salgant nearly objected, but Egalmoth bowed as distraction and made a bit of a speech on how important it was to uphold the dignity of the city and the houses while Ecthelion rigged something with a rope and a few timbers in the ceiling. He frowned and glared at his work in disdain before beckoning Erestor over to it.

Glorfindel tried to take a step forward, but his legs were shaking. Erestor himself seemed quite calm, too calm. Already he had stripped off the clothing from his upper body. Any other time, Glorfindel would have been thrilled to have seen this. A hand fell upon the blond’s shoulder, nearly causing him to stumble to the ground. Then something was shoved into his hands. “Fifty lashes.” Glorfindel’s mouth fell open as he turned around, his knees nearly knocking together. “Make them count or I shall double them. I know your strength, and Ecthelion is too mighty for this.” Lowering his voice, Turgon stared into Glorfindel’s eyes and added, “I know your weakness as well.”

He gasped in his next breath, and knew he had been discovered. The whip in his hands was not only to discipline Erestor, but to instill obediance in Glorfindel as well. Turgon knew. Glorfindel walked to Erestor with slow, heavy steps, unable to look at him. He would tell himself for years later that he was forced to do it, that he had no choice. In the morning, it was himself he would be unable to look at.